Devil's Smile
by Silent Sky
Summary: In the depths of Hell, a demon war unfolds. As the violence spreads, Ichigo and the Shinigami come under attack by forces spawned in Hell's darkness. Allying with mysterious demon hunters, Ichigo and Toshiro must turn the tide of war or face annihilation.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Bleach does not belong to me.

**Note:** Rated for language and violence. A glossary of terms is included at the end of the chapter.

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DEVIL'S SMILE

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Chapter 1

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Ichigo's eyes flew open.

His bedroom was dark and quiet, the alarm clock's glow identifying the hour as half-past three. The shimmer of light from the street lamp beyond his window spawned gently shifting shadows that coiled in the corners of the room. Beyond the stillness of the sleeping house, an engine roared as a car accelerated a few blocks away. A dog barked from an even greater distance.

His lungs struggled to pull in air, the sudden weight of the atmosphere seeming to press him into his bed. Unnoticed by the sleepy town, the unfamiliar reiatsu sizzled through the night.

Throwing his covers aside, he snatched the small badge off his desk, his Acting Shinigami Permit. It lay quiet and dark in his palm, unconcerned by the powerful, alien reiatsu burning the air like lightning. If this reiatsu didn't belong to a Hollow, then what—

"Ichigo!"

His bedroom door whipped open as Rukia wheeled into the room, her black shinigami array barely distinguishable against the shadows. She'd already abandoned her gigai in his sisters' bedroom where she slept as a permanent houseguest of his family.

He didn't wait to hear what she had to say about the strange reiatsu. He smacked the permit into his chest. With the familiar but always disconcerting sensation of being sucked through a vacuum cleaner, his spirit body burst from his physical body, the latter collapsing in a graceless heap beside his bed. He winced when his head—the physical one—thumped against the bed frame.

Rukia looked down at his lifeless body. "You really should be more careful when you—"

"Yeah, yeah," he snapped, barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "Let's just go."

Flinging open his window, he leapt from the ledge. His spirit body was amazingly light compared to his physical one, and with no effort whatsoever he landed one foot on the nearest street lamp and launched himself skyward. Rukia followed a bare step behind him, her small face grave, that tiny little wrinkle between her eyebrows the only sign that she was troubled.

"Well?" Ichigo demanded, alighting on the roof of an apartment building and already running. "What it is?"

"I don't know," Rukia replied, darting alongside him with sharp, graceful movements. "If it's a Hollow, Soul Society didn't send orders—but I don't think it is. I've never felt a reiatsu like this one before."

The atmosphere shuddered, the pressure growing to an almost unbearable weight. The air felt like sludge in his lungs. He gritted his teeth. Whatever the hell it was, it was strong and getting stronger. Even more than that, there was something entirely foul about the spirit force pounding against his body. It felt tainted, fetid, black with a tangible kind of malevolence.

"Faster," he ground out, and without waiting for Rukia's agreement, he sprang through space using Shunpo. The town spun into a blur of shadowed buildings and bright streetlamps as the wind of his passing tore at his hair and clothes. He touched down on another building and flash-stepped again.

As he touched down for a third time, the world exploded in his senses.

A silent boom rent the air as the power and pressure of the foreign reiatsu skyrocketed, a corporeal force that sent fallen leaves and garbage blowing down the street below. The building beneath his feet shuddered as tremors tore through the town. Ichigo gasped, throwing out his arms for balance as a ruddy red glow lit up the south end of town, burning his eyes like the sun even though the light wasn't particularly bright.

Rukia grabbed his arm to keep him from taking off, her nails pricking his skin. They stared in silence as the sickly glow and the dragging pressure of the reiatsu gradually lessened to disappear entirely.

Ichigo let out his held breath in an explosive exhale. "What the hell was all that?"

She shook her head. "We'd better check out the area, even if it's gone."

It took them nearly half an hour to cross to the south side of town, as there was no longer a need to rush. As they neared the area where the strange force had originated—easily identified thanks to the foul reiatsu that hung in the air with increasing potency—the sky lightened with approaching dawn.

Rukia grabbed his wrist again, pulling him to a stop. "Look," she whispered.

Drifting billows of heavy black smoke were now visible, silhouetted clearly as the sky brightened to a gloomy, pink-tinged grey. Flames licked hungrily at the crumpled remains of what must have been an entire block of small shops, reduced now to a smouldering crater in the street. Spots of fire, spread at random throughout the destruction, burned merrily, and in the distance came the sound of sirens.

Ichigo stared, aghast. "What—What—"

"Did this?" Rukia finished darkly. "Who can say?"

He tore his eyes away from the obliterated street to peer into her face, his gaze stabbing hers. "You mean to say that there are—whatever that was—out there with this kind of power and you have _no clue_ about it?"

Her violet eyes flashed. "I'm not omniscient, Ichigo," she snapped. "Just because _I _don't know doesn't mean that no one in Soul Society has a clue. We'll find out when I report—"

A blaze of red light made them both spin to face west, words forgotten. Several yards above a nearby office building, a bubble of murky red light blossomed outward, expanding until it was a dozen feet in diameter. Within the cocoon of red, a strip of black cut a horizontal line through the bubble. When it reached twice the width of a doorway, it enlarged vertically to form a large rectangle of blackness within the red sphere of light. For a moment, nothing happened.

With a blinding flash, both the bubble of light and the dark opening vanished. In its place were two figures, standing on air.

The man was huge and bulky. His broad shoulders and barrel-chest supported bulging, muscle-bound arms. His long legs were covered by loose umanori hakama of a black so dark it seemed to suck in the light, accented at the bottom by a design of thin red spikes pointing upwards like stalactites. His feet were clad in black waraji over red tabi. His massive chest and arms were laid bare but for an open, sleeveless black jacket with a high collar that fell to his knees in the back. Black armbands covered his forearms from wrist to elbow.

His gray eyes were hard and penetrating in a face of sharp, blocky angles: heavy square jaw, bold cheekbones, and a high forehead. His blond hair was cut brutally short on the sides, with the top an inch long and spiked straight up. Two scars crisscrossed the length of his face, one down his right temple and cheek, the other cleaving from the center of his forehead and across the bridge of his nose to peter out near his right ear.

He flexed his large, knuckly hands as he surveyed the destruction. A cruel smirk twisted his narrow lips. "Looks like the bastard's already gone," he commented in a gravelly baritone to his companion.

The woman by his side was dwarfed by the giant man. Her form was compact and petite, yet though she stood only a couple inches taller than Rukia, she had little of the female Shinigami's delicate fragility. There was a solidity to this small stranger that spoke of hidden strength. The flat planes of her stomach were hard with muscle, as were the gently rounded curves of her upper arms and the sleek lines of her thighs.

Indeed, Ichigo could see exactly how firm her body was, for her dark, exotic garb covered even less flesh than that of her male companion. Her top conformed perfectly to her small, shapely bosom, its wide straps climbing her shoulders to wrap around the back of her neck. It ended just below the curves of her chest, leaving her entire belly bared, and the swooping neckline dipped just low enough to draw one's gaze. Her lower garment wasn't quite a skirt; tucked into a wide waistband were two long rectangles of black cloth that hung gracefully, one covering the front of her hips down past her knees, the other covering the back, both leaving the outer sides of her lean thighs entirely visible to the wandering eye.

Like her companion, black armbands decorated with the same red spike pattern enclosed her forearms and hid the backs of her hands, while knee-high black boots clung to her shapely calves and slim ankles. Above her slender neck, her face was beautiful but cold, her large wine-purple eyes sharp and stony. Her hair was a deep, rich red, with a straight line of bangs covering her forehead and on the verge of falling into her eyes. Most of the red length was coiled into a large braided bun on the back of her head, but two long tails were loose to frame her face, falling in front of her shoulders almost to her waist, each bound halfway down its length with black ties.

She didn't immediately respond her comrade's remark. Her gaze swept across the scene below and then came around to fall upon Ichigo and Rukia, still standing frozen with surprise. As she turned to face them, he saw the black tattoo of swirls and points that coiled down her cheek beneath her right eye. He clenched his jaw as her jagged stare travelled over him.

Without any change of expression, she completed her survey of the two Shinigami and turned back to face the crater in the street.

"Yes," she agreed, as though the man had only just spoken. "It has escaped us again." Her voice was light and musical, but just as cool and impassive as her face.

"Can you track it?" the man grunted irritably. "I'm getting sick of tailing this stinking sneak."

She considered briefly before answering. "Its trail is concealed just enough to slow me. It's unlikely we'll catch it, but . . ."

The man gave her a predatory grin, flashing all his teeth. "But we're gonna try, aren't we?"

Her lips curved in a ghost of a smile. "Of course."

Shaking himself free of the paralyzing shock of their appearance, Ichigo found his voice. "Hey!" he bellowed. Rukia snatched his sleeve in warning. He ignored her. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded.

The man looked around, apparently spotting Ichigo and Rukia for the first time. His grey eyes went wide, then narrowed with wicked glee. "Oh, who do we have here?"

The woman, after a single half-glance in Ichigo's direction, returned to her study of the street's demolition. "Shinigami," she murmured dismissively. "Ignore them, Seiko."

The man—Seiko—snorted. "Oh—yeah, I recognize 'em now." He, too, turned away, dismissing Ichigo and Rukia as wholly beneath his notice.

Ichigo stiffened. "Hey," he yelled again, louder. "I asked you a question!"

They paid him no heed whatsoever.

With a growl, he reached over his shoulder, fingers wrapping around Zangetsu's hilt. "Damn it, I'm talking to you, you stuck-up piece of—"

"Ichigo!" Rukia's voice was a low warning hiss as she grabbed his other arm. "Don't!"

He snapped his glare to her. She kept her eyes on the strange pair.

"Can't you feel their reiatsu?" she whispered. "It's tightly controlled and contained, but powerful. They may not be carrying weapons, but those two are trained fighters. They're dangerous—maybe even more dangerous than whatever made that crater."

"But who are they?" he demanded roughly. "_What_ are they?"

Her answer was an anxious whisper. "I don't know."

Seeing her concern, he reluctantly released his Zanpakutou. He hadn't actually planned on attacking them—they hadn't done anything besides act like arrogant dipshits, after all—but judging by Rukia's reaction to them, even a bluff of violence was a bad idea.

"I have it," the woman said suddenly. "Ready?"

Seiko crackled his knuckles, grinning like a shark. "Hell yeah!"

With a short nod, the woman vanished. Her Shunpo was so fast Ichigo barely managed to track her movement: south, heading out of town. Seiko glanced over his shoulder.

"Later, Shinigami," he said, smirking. "Have fun with your little Hollow beasties. _We're_ off to hunt prey of a more fiendish sort." With a bark of laughter, he too flashed out of sight after his partner.

For a long moment, Ichigo stared at the spot where the two had stood. Then he turned to share a meaningful look with Rukia, whose worried eyes were filled with all the same questions as his.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Thanks for reading the first chapter of _Devil's Smile_! I'm planning on a relatively lengthy story, and I hope the first chapter was enough to whet your curiosity and bring you back for more.

I'm currently up-to-date with the Bleach anime (meaning well into Season 11 now) so if you're not current, please beware of spoilers. On the other hand, I don't read the manga so I'm blissfully ignorant of any plot therein.

Although I'm mostly a major stickler for canon, I'm afraid a little imagination and looking-the-other-way is necessary for this story. I'll do my best to keep it canon, but bits and pieces aren't going to be chronological. Sorry in advance for any confusion.

Lastly, I'm striving to keep the story authentic by using the proper terminology. As such, I'll be including a glossary of terms at the end of each chapter. The definitions were copied from other sources, not written by me. If there's anyone out there who's well-versed in Bleach terminology and/or Japanese language and culture, please feel free to add to my knowledge and/or point out any errors on my part.

Until next chapter!

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GLOSSARY:

**Gigai** (False Body) - An artificial body that houses a Shinigami in the living world. Made of densely packed Spiritrons, a Gigai is highly visible to Soul Society's sensors.

**Reiatsu **(Spiritual Pressure) - The physical force/pressure that a person's Reiryoku (the spiritual energy a being has stored within his or her soul) creates when released.

**Shunpo **(Flash Step) - A technique used by advanced Shinigami that allows one's self to travel considerable distances in short amounts of time.

**Tabi **- Split-toed socks.

**Umanori Hakama **- Divided hakama, a Japanese garment similar to trousers that ties at the waist and falls approximately to the ankles.

**Waraji **– Sandals made from straw rope.

**Zangetsu **("Cutting Moon") - The name of Ichigo's Zanpakutou.

**Zanpakutou** ("Soul Cutting Sword") - The proper term for the primary weapon a Shinigami has at his or her disposal.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Bleach does not belong to me.

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DEVIL'S SMILE

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Chapter 2

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"Hmmm."

Ichigo glared over the top of his cup of tea at the form of his sometimes-sensei, Urahara Kisuke. He could very nearly feel the vein in his temple pulsing as his impatient frustration surged to new levels.

"Hmmm." Urahara tapped his folded paper fan against his lips as he pondered, head tipped back to stare at the ceiling. "Hmmm."

"Well?" Ichigo nearly snarled, slamming his mug down onto the low table. He leaned forward, his hands curling into fists.

Rukia sat beside him, eyes closed and face serene. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap, pale against the grey skirt of her school uniform. The small room was shabby but clean, like most of the Urahara Store. Little did the average townsperson know that Urahara made his money not from the shelves of goods lining the front of the store, but from the hidden boxes of legal and illegal products that he trafficked to and from Soul Society.

Urahara tipped his head down, the brim of his stupid-looking hat shadowing his eyes. Flipping the fan open and then closed, he sighed.

"I can't be certain of the facts," the former Shinigami Captain said slowly. "While some aspects of your encounter would suggest one thing, there are far too many anomalies."

"What kind of anomalies?" Rukia inquired calmly while Ichigo took a deep breath to soothe his frustration.

"Ahh," said Urahara, waving his fan. "For starters, if the creature's whose reiatsu we all felt so strongly is what I suspect, its behaviour is highly atypical."

Ichigo leaned back, attempting to emulate Rukia's dignified calm. "What do you _suspect_ it was?"

Urahara sighed again. "I would say it was a demon."

"A demon?" Ichigo repeated. He glanced at Rukia and saw that her face had paled. "Don't you mean a Hollow?"

"Alas, demons and Hollows are entirely different entities."

"Don't you remember, Ichigo?" Rukia asked quietly. "The Hollow you destroyed that was a serial killer in life? Do you remember what happened?"

"Yeah," he said quickly, suppressing a shudder at the memory. "Those huge doors appeared and the guy was pulled in . . ."

"The Gates of Hell," Urahara said gravely. "As you probably noticed, it was not Hueco Mundo on the other side. Demons have their own world—Hell."

"So you're saying a demon from Hell came and blasted that street apart?"

"I think so."

"What's the anomaly in its behaviour?" Rukia locked her stare on Urahara's. "Demons destroy everything they can reach, which is what this one did."

"Yes and no," Urahara disagreed, peering at her from the shadows under his hat. "The demon destroyed one city block before fleeing. It was perfectly capable of destroying the entire town if left to its own devices—but why did it not? Why flee the scene for no discernible reason? That is the anomaly."

Ichigo looked between the two of them. "Why would it destroy anything in the first place?"

"Demons are beings of chaos," Rukia explained. "That's what they do: create chaos. Normally, demons are bound in Hell. I've never heard of one escaping before."

"I have," Urahara said. "I heard tell of two incidents. In both, the demon rampaged without mercy or rest until it was destroyed. So why would this one flee?"

"The man and the woman were tracking it," Ichigo said, "but they didn't arrive until the demon was long gone."

"Do you know anything about _them_, Urahara?" Rukia asked quickly.

"Ah, well. Again, I have my suspicions." He tilted his head so one eye glinted from the shadows on his face. "Be sure to give them wide berth if you see them again, Ichigo."

"Why?" he demanded. "Who are they?"

Urahara flapped both hands, grinning foolishly. "I think the demon is far more worrisome, don't you? We should concentrate on it."

"Are you evading my question?" Ichigo demanded with narrowed eyes.

"Exactly how powerful is a demon?" Rukia asked, saving Urahara from answering Ichigo.

Urahara tipped his head again so they could see his eyebrows had shot up. "Kidō is known as the Demon Arts, and is derived from demon magic. Does that answer your question?"

"Derived?" Rukia frowned. "I thought Kidō _was_ demon magic."

Ichigo had thought the 'Demon Arts' was just an overly dramatic name that had nothing to do with real demons, but decided not to say that aloud.

"It is," Urahara said, "but demons are far better at it than any Shinigami. It belonged to them first, after all."

Ichigo shrugged his shoulders to work out the tension. Great. Demons with demon magic. He was once again painfully aware of the spotty nature of his Shinigami training; he didn't know any Kidō at all.

"Frankly," Urahara said, tapping his fan against his chin, "I'm more concerned about the residual demonic aura left by the demon. It's unlikely the demon will return, but its aura lingers."

"Aura?" Ichigo repeated.

"Yes. Its aura is tied into its reiatsu. Demonic auras can do strange things to people. I hope it fades quickly, otherwise the local police are going to be _very_ busy for the next few weeks." Urahara glanced at the small clock on the wall behind Ichigo. "Oh. Don't you two have school now?"

Ichigo craned his neck around to see the clock. He yelped, shooting to his feet. "Damn it, we're already late!"

Without bothering with a goodbye, he sprinted from the room, Rukia on his heels.

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The morning sun cast its merry golden light upon the quiet streets of Seireitei, in the heart of Soul Society. Shinigami of every squad and rank bustled among the wide avenues, chatting and laughing and blustering with cheerful good humour. Beyond its walls, the inhabitants of Rukongai began another of the endless days of their afterlife, for some a pleasant routine of peace, for others a daily struggle to survive to the next sunrise.

High above the city of the Shinigami, Yamamoto-Genryusai Shigekuni, Captain of the 1st Division and Captain-Commander of the Gotei 13, listened in silence as the kneeling messenger delivered his report. Gazing absently out of the window, Yamamoto waved a hand in dismissal as the messenger finished. With a shiver of air, the messenger vanished, not even rising from his kneeling position before using Shunpo.

Yamamoto sighed quietly.

"So it's true then?" asked Sasakibe Chojiro, Vice-Captain of the 1st Division. He, too, had listened in silence to the report. "A demon in the real world?"

Yamamoto nodded slowly. "The first in over twenty years. It is fortunate that Kuchiki Rukia was able to report the incidence promptly."

"Captain Kurotsuchi is certain, then? He analyzed the samples from—"

"There is no doubt."

Sasakibe frowned at the wooden floor. "What does it mean?"

For a long time, Yamamoto did not respond. "Time reveals all," he said finally, his eyes on the wall of windows beyond his desk, "if only we have the patience to wait . . . and watch." He turned to his Vice-Captain. "Summon Captain Kuchiki."

"Captain Kuchiki?" Sasakibe repeated, startled.

"I would prefer more eyes watching Karakura Town. Where one demon went, another may follow." His fingers tightened on the gnarled staff that concealed his Zanpakutō. "And where demons go . . . inevitably the Yokujin* will come."

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"Ichi-goooooooo!"

With an easy side-step and thrust of one arm, Ichigo knocked Keigo off his feet. Students swarming down the hall on their way to lunch glanced over in mild surprise, parting so as not to trample the downed youth.

"Hello, Ichigo," Mizuiro said calmly, stopping beside the cringing boy on the floor. "Why were you so late this morning?"

"Exactly!" Keigo sprang to his feet. "You and Rukia _both_!" His eyes narrowed with wounded suspicion. "You—"

"Kurosaki."

Ichigo looked over his shoulder. Ishida pushed his glasses up his nose, ignoring Keigo and Mizuiro. Chad hovered—towered—behind him, his expression unreadable as usual.

"Could I have a word?" Ishida asked coolly.

Ichigo huffed out a breath. "Yeah, sure."

Shrugging to Mizuiro, he followed Ishida to their favourite haunt on the roof. As they moved through the halls, their group grew. Rukia appeared out of nowhere, lunch bag in hand, to fall into step beside him, and Inoue detached herself from Tatsuki to walk on Rukia's other side, beaming at both of them.

"Good morning, Rukia, Kurosaki."

Ichigo greeted her in return, wondering idly if she would ever start to call him by his first name. Considering all they'd been through together—though, of course, he didn't use her first name either. He would when she did.

When they were all settled on the roof with their lunches, Ishida cleared his throat, once again pushing his glasses up with one finger.

"So, Kurosaki, did you discover the cause of the explosion last night?"

"Explosion?"

"The police have decided the destruction was caused by some kind of bomb," Rukia informed him.

Ichigo grunted. "It wasn't a Hollow. It w—"

"I could tell that much from the aura," Ishida said smugly.

"Was a _demon_," he finished irritably.

There was a long moment of silence.

"Demon?" Inoue whispered. "That sounds bad."

Rukia and Ichigo quickly filled the others in on what they saw last night, and what Urahara had told them that morning. Of course, besides identifying the demon, Urahara hadn't done much more than provide vague hints. Evasive old man.

"And Urahara didn't tell you what he thought of the two people tracking the demon?" Ishida asked intently.

"No, he changed the subject real fast when I asked him."

"Very strange." Ishida adjusted his glasses. "We can only assume that those two were to the demon what the Shinigami are to Hollows." He looked at Rukia. "Is there a fighting force in Soul Society that handles demons?"

She shook her head. "I researched it"—she waved her Soul Society cell phone—"during class, but there's no record of any demon-fighting organization. The two we saw—Seiko and the woman—aren't from Soul Society."

Ichigo crossed his arms. "Well, whoever they were, they didn't stick around. As long as the demon doesn't come back, I don't think we'll be seeing them any time s—"

"Oy! Rukia!"

They turned. Jogging across the roof towards them was—

"Renji!" Rukia leaped to her, looking over her long-time friend's Gigai. "What are you doing here?"

"Nice greeting," he remarked, flopping down beside Ichigo. "The Old Man decided we need to keep a closer eye on Karakura Town. Just in case." He cast a slanted look at Ichigo. "You're still a trouble magnet, Ichigo."

"What!" He snapped to his feet. "Are you saying this is all _my_ fault?"

Renji jumped up too and stepped close, forcing Ichigo to look up at the taller make. "Yeah," the Shinigami Vice-Captain said with a sharp grin. "Yeah, maybe I am."

Inoue looked between the two of them, her large eyes worried. Rukia sighed, opening her lunch bag. Ishida scrambled to his feet as well, but his eyes were not on the two bickering Shinigami. He stared through the fence surrounding the rooftop, his face suddenly pale.

"Ishida?" Ichigo said, breaking off in mid-insult. "What's wrong?"

The slight young man didn't shift his gaze. "Can't you feel it?"

"Feel what?"

Inoue's eyes had gone wide. Rukia was still and silent, staring in the same direction. Chad and Renji both went a little pale. Then Ichigo felt it, slithering through the air towards them, dark and foul.

The demon reiatsu was back.

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**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

A note about name honourifics. I really wish I could use the appropriate honourifics (i.e. Kurosaki-kun) in the story, but sadly, I just can't remember how everyone addresses everyone else. There are way too many characters with different naming habits. For the sake of consistency, I've decided to forgo honourifics entirely.

As for Vice-Captain versus Lieutenant, I went with the term most commonly used in the Bleach anime subs that I watch. Same for Captain-Commander/General.

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GLOSSARY:

**Gotei 13 **(The 13 Court Guardians) - The organization that most Shinigami join, and one of the three main branches of military in Soul Society. It is subservient to the edicts of the Central 46 Chambers.

**Hueco Mundo **- The Hollow home plane that exists outside of both Soul Society and the living world.

**Kidō **("Demon Way"/"Spirit Way") - Known as the Demon Arts, the technique that Shinigami use to focus their reiatsu into magic spells of various powers. These spells serve a wide variety of uses such as healing, defense, or combat.

**Rukongai **("Floating Spirit Town") - The area of Soul Society outside the city limits of Seireitei. It is divided into 80 districts, with quality of life steadily becoming worse and worse the farther one dwells from the Shinigami city.

**Seireitei **(The Court of Pure Souls) - The walled city at the center of Soul Society where Shinigami and nobility live.

**Yokujin** - Hunter. *In this case, a plural usage: Hunters.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **Bleach does not belong to me.

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DEVIL'S SMILE

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Chapter 3

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Ichigo sprinted under the glaring noon sun, Rukia on one side, Renji on the other. All three of them had abandoned their bodies—in his case, a real one—on the school's rooftop for Inoue to guard, and their identical black shihakushō stood out in stark contrast amongst the brightly dressed townspeople. Not that anyone could see them.

Little did these townspeople realize the horror about to descend on them. The demon's reiatsu was growing steadily, already almost as powerful as the one from the night before. It clogged Ichigo's lungs, making him pant from a level of exertion than normally wouldn't have fazed him at all. The clingy, heavy feeling in the air seemed to reek with malice, and he knew it was only a matter of time before the demon unleashed its power like the last one hand.

He flash-stepped, shooting down an entire city block, then again. He, Renji, and Rukia hadn't dared travel at the slower pace of Ishida and Chad, who followed behind them. Blood pounded in Ichigo's head, fury tightening his chest. He was not going to let this monster destroy his town. He'd been too late for the first one, but this time—

Gritting his teeth, he pushed his Shunpo as far as he could without tapping into the enhanced speed of Zangetsu's Bankai. Renji and Rukia started to fall behind, struggling to match him.

In the brief moments between flash-steps, Ichigo noticed something strange—the townspeople. When he'd first started out, people were acting perfectly normal: cheerful, energetic, busy. As he moved closer and closer to the demon, the signs of normal everyday life vanished. Everywhere he looked, people were behaving oddly: women huddled in corners, shaking; men shouting; children screaming and weeping. He passed a half-dozen fistfights and street brawls. In midday?

Urahara's passing remark came back to him: Demonic auras can do strange things to people. Was this because of the demon?

All the more reason to stop it quickly. Ten flash-steps, ten city blocks. He sprang on top of a building near an abandoned, wide open schoolyard and stopped dead.

The demon stood in the center of the field, reiatsu oozing from its body like slimy heat waves. Its horned head was level with the roof of the school, two stories tall. Its hugely muscled arms were so long that the heavy, curved claws tipping each of its three fingers dragged on the ground. Its skin was mottled black, streaked with red and green splotches. As it stood in the schoolyard, drool dripped from a mouth bristling with pointed teeth, and the grass around it turned black and crumbled to dust.

Its stench hit Ichigo a moment later, making him cough and gag. Garbage and rot and disease hung in the air, choking him along with the foul pressure of its reiatsu.

Fear spread through his stomach, infecting his muscles. His hand trembled as he reached for Zangetsu's hilt. His knees quivered with sudden weakness as his fear expanded into a bubble of terror that made his breath quicken and his mind blank.

"Ichigo!" Rukia appeared beside him, but whatever she'd been about to say died on her lips as she took in the demon. Her eyes went unnaturally wide, the blood draining from her face. She gasped and began to cough.

"What the hell?" Renji snarled, landing on Ichigo's other side. "Why are you just standing there? Get out of my fucking way!"

He sprang off the rooftop, shoving Ichigo hard in the shoulder and knocking him into Rukia. Drawing Zabimaru, Renji roared a battle cry as he charged head-on at the reeking beast. Ichigo staggered and straightened, fury avalanching through him. How dare that bastard shove him around!

With a full-throated snarl, he ripped Zangetsu off his back, the sheath wrap unravelling in a swirl of white. Sparing a glance at Rukia, he saw her knees had given out, leaving her huddled on the rooftop, trembling and staring. Disgusted, he launched himself after Renji.

The demon turned its glowing, solid red eyes on the approaching Renji. Its mouth split wide, revealing more pointed teeth.

"Howl, _Zabimaru!_"

Swinging the elongated blade with deadly force, Renji aimed the jagged cutting edge at the demon's shoulder. With a contemptuous flick of a hand, it batted the blade away, letting out a high-pitched, shrieking cackle of laughter as Renji skidded, clutching Zabimaru's hilt against the force of the counterblow.

Ichigo shot past Renji, Zangetsu raised high. With an enraged yell, he leaped in the demon's face, swinging his enormous blade.

The demon's massive hand appeared out of nowhere, backhanding Ichigo out of the air. Pain flared in his chest as his ribs threatened to crack. The world spun, and he hit the ground, tumbling across the field. Pain rocked through his senses, and for a moment his mind cleared of the consuming pain and fury.

What the hell was wrong with him? That little slap shouldn't have hurt him; Ichigo had more than enough reiatsu to negate the damage of a blow like that—but he hadn't been thinking, hadn't been using his reiatsu at all. He'd attacked like a complete amateur, with no thought to tactics, strategy, or even defence. He was _better_ than that!

Pushing himself up, he saw Renji swinging Zabimaru at the demon, who smacked away every attack with its long arms. The extended sword flailed wildly, and for a moment Ichigo wondered if this was some new strategy of Renji's—pretending he'd never held a sword before.

"Damn it!" Ichigo snarled, getting his feet under him and ignoring the blossoming bruises across his ribs. Clutching Zangetsu, he took a brief, necessary moment to examine his foe and form an attack plan—what he should have done right off.

As he studied the beast, its reiatsu intruded on his senses, pummelling him with the heavy, stinking pressure of the demon's presence. His stomach constricted with renewed panic, and his heart started to pound. Sweat broke out all over his body, and his hands began to tremble again. He gasped, barely able to breathe.

Zangetsu seemed to throb in his hand, a sharp prick of its power zinging up his arm.

Ichigo shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. The demon was big and disgusting, but it wasn't that damn scary. Fear in battle got you killed. Hadn't Zangetsu taught him that? _When I attack, I will cut._

He lifted the blade, his grip steady, and ran for the demon. Circling wide, he came up behind it. Drawing in a deep breath, he lifted the sword over his head in both hands.

"_Getsuga Tenshō!_"

Power erupted from Zangetsu's blade, the blue crescent moon slicing through the air straight at the demon's oblivious back. A moment before it struck, the demon dodged to the side, and the howling blade of power slammed into the earth, blasting dirt and disintegrated grass into the air.

"What the hell was that!" Renji screamed, bursting from amongst the cloud of settling debris. "Are you trying to kill me?"

Ichigo took a shocked step backwards. Renji advanced on him, his eyes bulging with rage, teeth bared and sword in hand.

"What's your fucking _problem_, Ichigo?" the Shinigami Vice-Captain snarled.

Anger sparked in Ichigo, while at the same time fear coiled in his stomach. As both flooded his senses and threatened to consume his mind, he clutched Zangetsu and shoved all emotion away. If he could control his inner Hollow and master his Hollow transformation, then he could damn well keep a hold on his emotions!

"Get a grip, Renji," Ichigo said flatly. "You're out of control."

"Don't tell me what to do!" Renji spat. "What do you know? You're nothing but a little kid playing at war. You don't know what a _real_ warrior is!"

"Renji—"

"Shut up!" With a roar, Renji grabbed Zabimaru in both hands and charged.

Ichigo watched him come, realizing too late that Renji was attacking _him_. Not the demon behind him, not some clever feint that would make sense when Renji pulled off an amazing attack on their enemy. Renji was attacking Ichigo.

Shock dragged at his limbs, and Zangetsu came up too slowly. Zabimaru whistled as it cut through the air, aimed to cleave Ichigo's head in two. The demon's wheezing, cackling laughter filled Ichigo's ears as death descended.

"_Rikuj_ō_k_ō_r_ō."

Six wide, flat beams of golden light snapped around Renji's waist, paralyzing him instantly. The spikes on Zabimaru's blade hovered scant inches above Ichigo's face. He stared at them, shock weighing him down as though his bones had turned to stone.

"Do not think badly of him," a light, musical voice said from behind him. "He is not himself."

Ichigo spun around, staggering for balance with sluggish limbs. The red-haired woman from the night before stood behind him, her expression calm, reddish-purple eyes studying the spell immobilizing Renji.

"What—What—"

"Bakudō #61: Six Rods Prison of Light," she said quietly, turning her gaze on him. "It seemed needful." Her eyes narrowed as she took in his pale, sweaty face. Lifting a hand, she touched the tip of her forefinger to Ichigo's forehand.

The weight of shock evaporated from his body. An intangible swirl of power like a cool, fresh breeze swept through him, carrying away the shivering terror and burning rage, leaving him gasping in relief. He felt cleansed and lightened like he'd just stepped out the shower.

"Pull in your reiatsu," the woman said, lifting her finger. The moment her touch was gone, the fear and anger sparked back into life. Ichigo struggled to shed them before they got out of control again.

"Condense your spiritual energy around your body as a shield against the demon's aura," she continued evenly, unsympathetic as she watched him fight with his emotions.

He struggled to do as she said, straining to grasp his reiatsu. He'd never been very good at it, as Ishida was constantly pointing out. After a moment, he relaxed. He'd thickened his reiatsu around his body enough to limit the baleful influence of the demon to a mere shiver of fear in the back of his mind.

The woman examined his reiatsu. "Clumsy," she said critically. "I thought Shinigami were trained in—"

"Give it a rest, Kita," laughed Seiko, stepped up beside her. In one hand the huge man held a colossal broadsword, fully as long as he was tall. It glowed faintly. "You're the biggest know-it-all this side of heaven." He clapped Ichigo on the shoulder, nearly knocking him off his feet. "The kid was doing pretty good against that beastie."

Remembering the demon with a start, Ichigo jerked around—and gaped.

The demon had been sliced clean in two, both halves collapsed in a stinking pile in the middle of the schoolyard. It was already decomposing; bubbles glooped under its skin, and slimy discharge leaked from the softening corpse. Even as he watched, it began to lose its shape.

He turned back to the two strangers. "You—When did—"

"When your buddy there was trying to rearrange your face," Seiko said with a grin. "Kita here was nice enough to come to your rescue while I offed this reeking pile o' shit."

Ichigo's shoulders sagged. The battle was over, and he'd barely managed to keep its aura from driving him insane, let alone fought it with any degree of success.

Kita sighed. "Spare us your sulk," she said cuttingly. "Demons require a special set of skills to battle. You shouldn't even have engaged it."

"What was I supposed to do, stand by and watch it level the town?" he snapped, straightening.

"You should have waited for us—"

"Lay off already, Kita," Seiko interrupted, rolling his pale grey eyes. "He didn't know for sure we'd come, did he? We were pretty late last time."

She shot him a look that could have frozen fire. He grinned back.

"Who _are_ you?" Ichigo demanded.

"I suppose we owe him an answer, eh?" Seiko said to Kita. Snapping two fingers to his forehead in a lazy salute, Sieko intoned, "Nakajima Seiko, Keiri of the 2nd company." He looked expectantly at Kita.

"Matsuo Nakita, Ekisha of the 2nd company."

"But everyone calls her _little Kita_," Seiko gushed with a wicked smirk, planting a huge hand on top of her head and ruffling her bangs.

Without changing expression, she punched him in the stomach.

Ichigo choked back a surprised laugh, waiting until Seiko stopped wheezing before asking, "Second company of _what_?"

"What else?" Kita replied since Seiko hadn't quite recovered enough to answer. "We're—"

"_Akki Yokujin_," said a familiar voice. "Demon Hunters."

Ichigo looked over his shoulder. Urahara strode across the field, his disguised Zanpakutō in one hand. As usual, he wore his shapeless, slightly ratty green ensemble and stupid hat. He flashed them a grin. Seiko looked as shocked as Ichigo to see Urahara, but Kita showed no surprise; mild irritation was the only emotion that registered on her face.

"Who're you?" Seiko gasped out, massaging his belly. "Geez, Kita. Thanks for the ulcer."

"Urahara Kisuke," supplied the former Shinigami cheerfully. "Naught but a local merchant, little more. You, though," he added, his voice softening in an almost threatening way, "are not local at all."

Kita returned his stare, her eyes steely. "Do you object to our presence?"

"It's more that I object to the fact that your presence here means you aren't doing your job back home. After all, isn't it your calling to contain demons _in Hell_?"

Seiko adjusted his grip on his broadsword, eyeing the newcomer narrowly. "You seem to know an awful lot about us for a _merchant_."

Kita looked at Urahara. Her eyes glazed over and her pupils dilated rapidly until only thinnest circle of iris remained.

"He is no ordinary merchant," she said, her voice whispery, almost sepulchral. "Gigai body. Zanpakutō capable of both Shikai and Bankai. Shinigami essence. Captain-level reiatsu. Expertise in hand-to-hand combat. And," her eyes focused again, "clearly out of practice in the battle arts."

Urahara tipped his head in a mocking nod. "Very astute. The Hunters are lucky to have such a talented Ekisha."

Ichigo rolled his right shoulder, working out the stiffness from the demon's blow. "Ek—what?"

"Ah," Urahara said, turning to his pupil. "You see, Ichigo, Yokujin always work in pairs. One partner is the Ekisha, the Diviner, who must have exceptional talents of perception in order to track wily demons. He—or she—is usually highly trained in Kidō as well, to offset the demon's magic for her partner. The Keiri, Slayers, make up the second half of a Yokujin partnership. They, as their title suggests, are responsible for battling, subduing, and if needed, killing the demon."

Urahara looked between Kita and Seiko. "However, Yokujin work primarily from within Hell. Their presence here in the human world is . . . ominous."

Kita crossed her arms and lifted one thin eyebrow. "If you're waiting for me to bat my eyelashes, apologize profusely, and answer your every query about Hunter affairs . . . enjoy an eternity of suspense."

Seiko snorted, his upper lip curling as he glowered at Urahara. "What Kita means to say is butt out of our business, old man."

"It's kind of _our_ business too," Ichigo said angrily, "when demons are popping up in the middle of town, destroying entire city blocks, and driving everyone insane with their aura."

"We'll take care of it," Kita said dismissively. "And on that note, we have work to do."

Seiko sighed, the aggression melting out of him to be replaced with gloomy resignation. "Clean-up duty."

Turning towards Renji, Kita murmured a soft word. The binding dissolved, and Renji collapsed onto the grass, shaking uncontrollably. She impatiently poked his forehead with one finger, and his shaking ceased, though he continued to gasp weakly.

"Shinigami," she muttered with a twist of her lips. She glanced at Ichigo. "You should see to your other companion. She's recovering on her own, but it would be best if you moved her away from the demon."

She turned towards the demon's corpse, then paused to look over her shoulder at Urahara. Her face could have been carved from ice.

"Do not cross me, Urahara Kisuke of the Shinigami, or you will spend the next eon wishing I'd killed you." She walked away.

Seiko scowled at Urahara. "Nice job pissing her off, old man. Now I get to deal with her temper for the next week." He followed after his partner, muttering.

"Hold on," Ichigo called. He started after them. "I want to know—"

Without looking back, Kita held out one arm and flicked her fingers in a strange gesture. With a popping sound, the barrier burst into existence a foot in front of his face, so powerful it knocked him back a step.

"What the hell?" he yelled, slamming a fist into what appeared to be the undamaged schoolyard but was in fact a solid wall of illusion. The barrier reacted to his punch with an electric shock of power that sizzled along his bones and left his entire arm numb.

"Don't waste your energy, Ichigo," Urahara said quietly. "You'll never break a barrier set by an Ekisha."

Ichigo turned his frustrated glare on his sensei. "Why can't they just tell us what's going on?" he demanded.

Urahara stared at the impenetrable wall of illusion. He sighed. "That's what worries me the most."

**

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. x : X : x .

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AUTHOR'S NOTE:

I decided the glossary would function better if new terms were in order of appearance in the chapter instead of alphabetical order.

If anyone would like to see my artist's rendering of Nakita, it can be found at _http(colon)//anniasha(dot)deviantart(dot)com/art/Nakita-Demon-Hunter-128300808_ with the appropriate punctuation in place of "(colon)" and "(dot)". The link is also on my profile page.

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GLOSSARY:

**Shihakush****ō **("Garment of Dead Souls") - The Shinigami uniform.

**Bankai** (Final Release) - The third and final form (or second upgraded form) of a Zanpakutō.

**Getsuga Tenshō** ("Moon Fang Heaven-Piercer") - Zangetsu's special ability, which fires concentrated energy blasts from the tip of the blade in the shape of a crescent moon or a wave.

**Rikujōkōrō **("Six Rods Prison of Light") - A binding spell that summons six thin, wide beams of light lock around a target's midsection, holding them in place. The target is then unable to move any part of their body, including the parts that were not struck by the beams.

**Bakudō **("Way of Binding") - A broad category of defensive Kidō spells that block or repel attacks or freeze enemies in place.

**Keiri** - Slayer (literal: "executioner").

**Ekisha** - Diviner (literal: "fortune teller"/"diviner").

**Akki Yokujin** - Demon Hunter (literal: "evil spirit hunter").

**Shikai** (Initial Release) - The second form (or first upgraded form) of a Zanpakutō. To activate it, the Shinigami needs to learn the name of his or her Zanpakutō.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** Bleach does not belong to me. However, Matsuo Nakita, Nakajima Seiko, and the Akki Yokujin (Demon Hunters) do belong to me.

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**DEVIL'S SMILE**

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**Chapter 4**

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The small room at the back of the Urahara Store was crammed nearly to its limit. Ichigo twitched his shoulders, vaguely uncomfortable with Inoue immediately on his right and Rukia close on his left. Renji, Ishida, and Chad filled the rest of that half of the room, while Urahara, Yoruichi, Tessai, Jinta, and Ururu took up the remaining room around the small table.

As Urahara told the others about the Yokujin, Ichigo watched Rukia and Renji. Both sat slumped over mugs of tea, pale and silent. Renji in particular hadn't met Ichigo's eyes once since Kita had freed him from the binding spell, and it was hours later. Rukia had barely spoken, and her hands trembled occasionally in spite of her efforts to hide it.

"The Yokujin are a tight-lipped lot," Yoruichi said to Urahara, lounging carelessly on a cushion. "It's not surprising that they aren't sharing information. There's no love lost between them and the Shinigami."

Urahara fiddled with his paper fan. "My instincts are telling me this goes beyond their natural reticence. As the protector of this town, Ichigo at least had the right to know something about the demon attacks."

"Seiko is definitely more talkative than Kita," Ichigo put in, "but he told you to butt out too. Neither of them was very open about their purpose, but they both clammed up as soon as you arrived."

Yoruichi heaved a sigh. "You should have stayed out of it and let Ichigo talk to them, Kisuke. They didn't need a Diviner to figure out you're a scoundrel at heart."

He pressed a hand to his chest. "Why, your words wound me, dearest Yoruichi." He absently tapped his fan against the table. "But if I'm a scoundrel, then Matsuo Nakita is the devil's mistress herself. She's the one we need to watch out for."

Ichigo's eyebrows shot up. "You really think she meant that threat? About you wishing she'd killed you if you crossed her?"

"Oh yes. Not only did she mean every word, I suspect she's already decided exactly how to do away with me."

Frowning, Ichigo said, "I'd think that Seiko is more dangerous. He killed that demon so fast I didn't even _notice_."

"In a straight fight," Yoruichi said, "the Slayers are far more deadly. But if his Diviner gets you first, you won't have a chance to fight."

"One text," Tessai said unexpectedly, "suggests that the Kidō Corps of Soul Society were modelled after the Ekisha of the Akki Yokujin. The masters among the Ekisha are equalled by none in Kidō proficiency."

Ichigo grunted. "I suppose. She bound Renji just by saying the spell name. She didn't even say the spell type or number or anything like Rukia does."

Urahara, Yoruichi, and Tessai stiffened.

"She didn't say the number?" Tessai asked quietly. Ichigo shook his head. Tessai looked at the other two. "That level of Eishohaki is extremely rare."

Rukia had explained the concept of Eishohaki to Ichigo before, the technique where a Shinigami omitted the spirit chant for a Kidō spell to decrease the casting time. Unfortunately, it also decreased the power of the spell.

"Maybe it was a low level binding," Yoruichi said dubiously. She looked at Ichigo. "Did you recognize the spell?"

"Umm . . ."

"Bakudō #61: Six Rods Prison of Light," Renji said tonelessly.

Urahara, Yoruichi, and Tessai exchanged a long look.

"Well," Urahara said, clearing his throat loudly, "as I said, watch out for Matsuo, Ichigo. At least you'll see Seiko coming if he turns on you."

"Why _would_ they?" Ichigo demanded. "You keep talking like—"

"Ichigo," Yoruichi snapped. "Listen to us. You've always done things your own way, and that's fine. But for once in your life, take some advice: Never trust a Yokujin. Never let your guard down. Never turn your back on one."

Startled, he leaned back. "Okay," he said finally. "I'll be careful."

"Good," she said. "Now then—" She turned towards Renji and Rukia, and shouted so loudly that everyone in the room jumped. "_Quit sulking already!_"

"That's exactly what Kita said to me," Ichigo muttered, rubbing his hand over his chest as his heart pounded from the sudden fright.

"I'm not sulking," Renji muttered, staring at the table. Rukia didn't say anything at all.

"Get over it, already," Ichigo barked, following Yoruichi's lead. "So the demon aura got to you. It did the same thing to me and to Rukia and to every townsperson within a mile of it."

"_You_ didn't try to kill—" Renji choked, unable to get the words out. His hands curled into fists, the tendons in his wrists standing out stark white. "I totally lost it. I almost killed you."

"I almost killed you when my attack missed, so we're even."

"No, you didn't. Your attack didn't hit even close to me. I just—" He cringed and shook his head.

"At least you managed to draw your sword," Rukia whispered. "I was so . . . so terrified that I couldn't even stand. I couldn't do anything."

"So was I!" Ichigo yelled, hating the sight of her suffering and uncertainty. "I was scared shitless! I couldn't even draw Zangetsu when I first came on the demon. If Renji hadn't shoved me and made me angry, I would still be standing there paralyzed by fear! And you"—he turned to Renji on his other side—"the only reason your attack almost killed me is because that stupid demon aura had my emotions so screwed up I couldn't even react. It messed with all of us, so quit acting like the biggest martyr on the planet!"

"I'm not acting like a—"

Balling up his hand, Ichigo slammed his fist down on the top of Renji's head.

"What the hell?" Renji bellowed.

"Do I have to beat some sense into you?" Ichigo roared back. "You're making a fool of yourself! Quit pouting over what happened and learn how to stop it from happening again!"

"How am I supposed to do that!"

Ichigo blinked. "Didn't I tell you that Kita told me how to defend against the demon aura?"

Renji stared for a moment. "No, you _didn't_, you stupid f—"

"How?" Rukia cut in, her voice quietly desperate. "How, Ichigo?"

After Ichigo had repeated Kita's words as closely as he could remember, Renji and Rukia both relaxed noticeably.

"I should have thought of that myself," Rukia said. "It's remarkably simple."

"Were you able to do it, Kurosaki?" Ishida asked dryly. "We all know reiatsu control isn't your strong point."

Urahara spoke before Ichigo could retort. "Keep in mind that the stronger the demon, the less effective that defence will be. The safest course is to kill the demon as quickly as possible. Let us hope instead that the demon attacks are over with now that the escaped demon is dead."

"It wasn't the same demon," Rukia said.

"What? Are you sure?"

She nodded. "I came in close contact with the demon reiatsu both times. The two were very similar, but I'm certain they belong to different demons."

Urahara leaned back, closing his eyes. "Then I doubt we've seen the last of demons . . . or of the Yokujin."

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**. o : O : o .**

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Hitsugaya Tōshirō—Captain of the 10th Division in the Gotei 13, youngest Captain in the history of Seireitei, youngest Shinigami to ever achieve Bankai, and wielder of Hyōrinmaru, the most powerful ice-element Zanpakutō in Soul Society—glowered at his Vice-Captain.

"How many times," he growled in a dangerously quiet voice, "have I told you _not_ to hide sake in the desk?"

Rangiku, standing amidst the clutter of bottles Tōshirō had just finished pulling from various hiding spots, widened her eyes and pressed one hand to her cheek, radiating innocence. "Why, Captain Hitsugaya, I don't remember you saying that!"

"_Matsumoto!_"

She laughed and flapped one hand at him. "Okay, okay. I'll move it all out tomorrow."

Already knowing that she would instead spend tomorrow finding new places of concealment about the Division 10 office, Tōshirō didn't bother to respond. Sitting down at the desk, he pulled a stack of paper closer and looked down at the first sheet.

"Did you do _any_ paperwork yesterday?"

"Of course I did."

"Then why is nothing done? This is where I left off the day before!"

Rangiku pouted. "Captain, you're so _grumpy_ today."

He pulled a bottle of ink from the drawer, ignoring her. Throwing herself down on the couch, she braced her chin in one hand, elbow on the back of the couch, and watched him. He didn't have to look to know that her expression had become serious.

"Did you hear about the second demon in Karakura Town?" she asked quietly.

"I'm a Captain, remember?"

"Kira said that the report said these _Yokujin_ people killed it. Do you know anything about them?"

He filled in a blank spot on the form under his nose, pulling the ink bottle closer with the other hand. "They're Demon Hunters, a military-like organization that operates entirely outside Soul Society's jurisdiction. I'd never heard of them until the Captains Meeting this afternoon."

Rangiku worried a fingernail. "I don't like it. Not there. Not in Karakura Town."

Tōshirō remained silent. He didn't like it either. Demons. He didn't know much about them, and didn't like not knowing. He stared down at the form, wondering why the hell he was sitting here when there was a threat out there that no one understood. Shoving the paperwork away, he rose to his feet.

"Captain? Where are you going?"

"Research," he answered shortly.

"Research what?" she persisted, following him out of the office.

"Demons."

It was nothing more than a hunch, but he was certain that he needed to learn as much as he could about demons—and learn it fast. In silence, Rangiku continued to follow him. They'd known each other long enough that he needed to give no explanation. She trusted his instincts.

They left the 10th Division compound and moved onto the streets of Seireitei. The buildings were bathed in golden light from the setting sun, and deep shadows stirred restlessly in every corner. The few Shinigami they passed greeted Tōshirō respectfully, but he did not respond, lost in thought. Rangiku walked in his shadow, nodding to the passersby.

The streets emptied as they moved into less-travelled sectors of Seireitei. Not many Shinigami found reason to visit the expansive maze of books, files, and records that contained the collective history of Soul Society. A highly inaccurate history, he thought sourly. How many times had Soul Society altered and abridged its own records in attempts to erase mistakes of the past? If they'd purged their records of demons and Yokujin in some short-sighted effort at maintaining outward respectability, they were all in trouble.

Shadows engulfed the Captain and Vice-Captain as they turned down a narrow street enclosed on either side by tall, solid walls. The darkness was heavy and suffocating like the weight of evil. What did he know of demons? They spawned in Hell, tormentors of the human souls that earned passage into eternal suffering for their sins. Kidō was known as the Demon Arts. Surely there was some connection there . . .

His steps dragged, and the confines of the street seemed to constrict around him. Hopelessness trickled through his thoughts. How could they fight demons? Even Kurosaki, with his Captain-level reiatsu, had been defenceless against one. According to the report, Abarai Renji had done even worse. Tōshirō didn't entirely understand what the report had meant when it said Abarai and Kuchiki Rukia had been incapacitated by the 'demonic aura,' but he didn't like it. How could they fight something as intangible as an aura?

Despair swept over him, chilling his skin. The darkness pressed down, and he shivered. He never got cold. Never. He was the one whose reiatsu chilled others. Even as the thought ran through his head, ice flowed in his veins, numbing him from the inside out, and it was hard to breathe.

Rangiku whimpered.

Tōshirō stopped and turned. He stared at his Vice-Captain, who averted her gaze, turning her face away. Her eyes were glazed with tears. She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, sniffing quietly. She was fighting not to cry—but Rangiku didn't cry. She just didn't.

"Matsumoto?" He was shocked by the sound of his own voice: a weak, quivering whine. He realized his whole body was shaking as badly as Rangiku's.

His quick, complex mind spun, analyzing, calculating, skirting the taint of his inner desolation to seek rational explanations. The glacial despair crept through him, and he clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. He could barely think, his emotional turmoil was so wholly incapacitating.

Blue-green eyes snapped wide with sudden comprehension. Hand flashing back over his shoulder to grasp his sword's hilt, he pulled the blade free with the ringing song of steel.

"Sit upon the frozen heavens," he whispered, "Hyōrinmaru!"

Wintry air whipped down the narrow street as his Shikai released. Reversing Hyōrinmaru, he stabbed the blade's point into the stone between his feet. Ice erupted from the point of contact, coating the ground and rippling outwards. With shocking speed, every solid surface within fifty feet of the sword froze solid.

Something behind him squealed in pain and rage.

Tōshirō turned away from Rangiku, who stood shivering in a small circle free of ice, to look down towards the sound. The walls and ground glittered under their inch-thick slick of ice, reflecting light from the moon above to banish the worst of the shadows.

A small form, barely as high as his shoulder, twisted and contorted in the center of the street. It snarled in a high-pitched voice as it danced on the ice, slipping and yelping as the cold burned its clawed feet. It turned glowing red eyes on the young Captain and opened its mouth. In the otherwise toothless maw, two long, pointed fangs extended from its upper gums, dripping greenish foam.

Aberrant despair dragged at his limbs, but he paid it no heed. He understood now what the report had meant. Incapacitated by an aura.

Pulling Hyōrinmaru's tip from the ground, he brought the blade around in front of him, clasping it in both faintly-trembling hands.

"Demon," he hissed.

Abandoning the spell that had hidden its presence, the creature allowed its reiatsu to flood the street, along with a terrible, suffocating stench. Behind him, Rangiku began to weep, and the demon shrieked its hideous laughter.

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**. x : X : x .**

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**GLOSSARY**

**Kidō Corps** - A separate branch of Soul Society's military that excels in the art of Kidō. It takes students from the Shinigami Academy that excel in Kidō and trains them to further their abilities in said area. Its operations are executed in absolute secrecy, and little else is known.

**Eishohaki **- A technique that releases Kidō without a spirit chant. It decreases the time needed to release the Kidō, but also drastically weakens the spell.

**Hyōrinmaru** ("Ice Ring", idiomatically "Frozen Full Moon") - Hitsugaya Tōshirō's Zanpakutō.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **Bleach does not belong to me, but Matsuo Nakita, Nakajima Seiko, and the Akki Yokujin (Demon Hunters) do.

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DEVIL'S SMILE

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Chapter 5

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It wouldn't stop laughing.

Tōshirō braced one shoulder against the wall, breathing hard. The demon stood a dozen paces away, cackling as it licked the blood of its claws. _His_ blood.

With a howl of glee, it charged, blindingly fast. He swung his blade, forcing it back, and leaped skyward. With a slash of his Zanpakutō, a great whip of ice with the head of Hyōrinmaru erupted from the tip, looping its coils around the small form of the demon. It squealed from within the frozen prison, and the ice dragon shattered into jagged shards.

Tōshirō flash-stepped just before the demon's claws would have ripped a new hole in him. He'd underestimated its speed when it had first attacked, and now he was fighting three battles: one against the demon, one against his emotions, and one against his weakening body. The latter was happening far too fast. The claw wounds on his left shoulder and across his back were painful but shallow, and he'd already stopped the bleeding with his reiatsu. So why did his limbs feel weak and shivery, his muscles sluggish and his head muzzy with fatigue?

A foolish question. He already knew the answer.

Rangiku huddled against a wall, tears streaming down her face, her eyes blank and staring. The demon's emotional intrusion had pulled her into an inner landscape he could not comprehend, but he knew he couldn't count on her help.

The demon was just so damned _fast_.

He dodged another strike, slashing with Hyōrinmaru in the same motion. The blade bit deep into the demon's shoulder, and it howled—with laughter. Greenish-black blood splattered across Tōshirō's face, burning like fire where it touched his skin. He sprang backwards, cursing himself for a fool. It was the luck of the heavens that none of the acidic blood had splashed in his eyes.

"_Ha-haa!_" screeched the demon in a voice so high and scratchy it cut at his eardrums. The sound blazed painfully inside his head, whiting out his vision. "_Play with me, man-child_. _Feed me!_"

Agony tore through his side as the demon sank its claws into his flesh. Tōshirō gasped, choking as the demon's stench filled his throat. It put its bald, horned head right in his face, mouth gaping as it laughed. Its other hand was curled around Tōshirō's right wrist, forcing Hyōrinmaru's deadly edge away.

"_Feed me,_" it repeated in a hiss, its voice again turning everything in his vision white as pain lanced through his head. Warm wetness dripped down the sides of his neck; his ears were bleeding.

It ripped its claws from his side and grabbed him by the throat. Panting with delight, the demon opened its mouth wide and dragged its dripping fangs down his cheek, just light enough not to break the skin. The foamy secretion seared like knives driving into his skull.

He was choking, drowning in its foul reiatsu, its fetid reek, its consuming despair. His vision blurred, pain overwhelming his senses, the burn of its venom and blood on his skin, the terrible fire in his wounds, the crushing pressure on his lungs.

"B—" His throat was constricting, lungs screaming for clean air. "Ba—" The demon shrieked with mirth, and the bones in the wrist it held cracked. Pain tore up his arm.

"Ban . . . kai."

The demon yowled as the combined force of Tōshirō's and Hyōrinmaru's released reiatsu hurled it away from him. Snow began to fall, swirling through the air as clouds obscured the moon. The icy cover on the street and buildings thickened, and icicles dripped from the eaves. The temperature plummeted and demon's breath misted in the air as it glared, no longer laughing.

Tōshirō stood on the rooftop, his wings of ice spread wide, Hyōrinmaru held before him. His eyes were glacial, frozen blue, clear of the demon-spawned despair for the first time since he'd stepped onto the street where the creature had hidden. With nothing but the sheer force of his fully unleashed reiatsu, he pushed the demon's aura away. Its choking stench clung to its body in the frosty air, and now it was the one trembling as the cold air burned its skin.

"_Daiguren Hyōrinmaru_," he said quietly.

He lifted his blade and brought it slashing down. The great, terrible form of Hyōrinmaru spiralled from the point, its icy weight smashing down on the demon before it could do more than scream with rage. A blizzard of snow and ice blasted down the street.

When the snow settled, a great jagged wall of ice filled the street. Encased in its center was the demon, its dead eyes staring accusingly at its killer. The weight of its reiatsu faded, leaving nothing but a faint impression of foulness.

Tōshirō jumped from the roof and landed heavily beside the demon's tomb of ice. He took a slow step towards Rangiku's huddled form. His knees trembled, and a bitter smile twisted his lips.

"A clever trap," he whispered to himself as his wings disintegrated into snow that sifted gently to the ground. "That the release of my reiatsu would hasten its spread . . ."

Hyōrinmaru's blade dragged on the ice-coated ground as he took another slow step. The burn that had filled his wounds raged through his entire body. His limbs shook uncontrollably. His eyes would no longer focus.

He staggered another step. "Matsumoto . . ."

A dark blur amidst the sparkling icescape shifted, growing larger as it struggled to rise—and he knew nothing more.

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. o : O : o .

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He watched the rain fall softly.

The jagged black mountains stretched endlessly into the distance, forever clawing at the midnight sky. A gentle mist hung in the air, softening each breath of cool air that slid into his lungs. The view from his high tower was cloaked in a pale haze of moisture, tempering the harsh landscape in a rare moment of respite in this unforgiving world.

Saiu regarded the misty rain—his namesake—with solemn eyes of deep red-black. The night was tranquil, serene, yet he knew the quiet was as slight a reprieve as the rain; soon it would shatter.

He stepped back from the edge of the platform that formed the top of the tower. The entire structure was black stone, carved from the peak of the mountain upon which it sat. This was a realm of blackness, dimness, darkness. In some precious corners, havens closer to the light of the living world, the shadows were not quite so thick; but here, in the heart of darkness, there was no relent of the night.

As he moved towards the stone steps that would take him back into the shelter of the tower, a shimmer caught Saiu's eye. He paused, looking down. A dark puddle had formed on the smooth stone, and in it, his reflection stared back at him curiously.

The black leather of his garb blended into the murky sky, revealing little of his slender build. His sleeveless shirt clung to his torso, while detached sleeves climbed his arms to his biceps. A thick black collar covered his throat, and his legs vanished entirely into the shadow, covered in more fitted leather.

His skin was pale, untouched by the sun, and greyish teal in colour. Long, pointed ears poked through his hair and swept back along the sides of his head. His midnight red eyes gleamed faintly from amongst the strands of black hair that fell across his face, off his shoulders, and swirled down to his wait. The soft, fine locks were untamed and tousled indefinitely, lifting from the slightest breeze to drift about him.

Tiny, tapering black horns resembling those of an adolescent goat protruded from the top of his skull, and retractable black claws tipped each finger. Dry amusement reflected in his eyes; he was as black as this world. He bared his teeth—pointed like a cat's—at his reflection. At least his teeth were white.

He blinked at his image, and touched one claw lightly to his cheek. His brothers called him 'pretty boy,' and it was most assuredly an insult, for his face did not inspire fear as did theirs—and the ability to inspire fear was prized among his kind. Instead, his dark eyes were large and slightly slanted, with thin, arching eyebrows. His face was angled but just a little soft, young, yet to harden with the infinitely passing years into a mask of stone.

Despite his many years, he appeared to be a teenager, and would for centuries more. As the youngest of three brothers, he would always be a child in the eyes of his siblings—and of his father. There was little he could do to change that perception.

Saiu turned away from his reflection, tipping his face back to feel the gentle caress of the rain. He did not turn when the demon kneeled respectfully a few paces behind him.

"Miyasama."

He turned his head to look at the messenger out of one eye. "Yes," he murmured, keeping his voice soft and low so as not to harm the weaker being.

"I have news from the borderlands, miyasama. News about . . . Soul Society."

Saiu's eyes widened ever so slightly. "Soul Society?" he repeated.

"Yes, miyasama."

Blinking slowly, the demon prince returned to watching the rain fall softly upon the black mountains of Hell.

"Tell me everything."

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. o : O : o .

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Captain Ukitake Jūshirō stood in the hallway of the 4th Division's main building, where the injured were brought for healing and recuperation. Captain Kyōraku Shunsui waited with his Vice-Captain Ise Nanao, Rangiku, and, somewhat surprisingly, Captain Kuchiki Byakuya. The silence in the rather crowded hall was tense.

An hour earlier, Jūshirō had been the first to reach Tōshirō and Rangiku, having run for the scene the moment he'd been hit by the powerful reiatsu of Tōshirō's Bankai. Jūshirō had immediately realized that Tōshirō's opponent must have used some kind of barrier to hide their battle, a barrier that had lifted when its caster died. If not for the barrier, every Captain and Vice-Captain would have come to Tōshirō's aid long before.

Following the rapidly evaporating chill of Hyōrinmaru and slowly fading reek of the demon, he'd rushed down an ice-coated street to find Tōshirō collapsed, semi-conscious, and burning with a dangerously high fever. Rangiku had been in near hysterics, unable to rouse her Captain or even determine the cause of his sudden illness, for his injuries alone did not account for his state.

Luckily, Uohana had arrived almost immediately afterward, and just in time to prevent Tōshirō from asphyxiating as his lungs filled with fluid. Ukitake had calmed Rangiku and helped her overcome the emotional exacerbation caused by the demonic aura.

"Where are the creature's remains now?" Byakuya asked, breaking the heavy silence.

"Captain Kurotsuchi has taken it to his lab for examination," Jūshirō said, and added under his breath, "He seemed most excited over the acquisition."

The door around which they were clustered slid open, and Captain Uohana Retsu stepped out. She quietly slid the door closed again before facing her expectant audience.

"Captain Hitsugaya will recover fully from his injuries," she said in her soft, careful voice. "I have healed his wounds and cleansed his body of both the demon's poison and venom. He is resting now."

"Poison _and_ venom?" Shunsui said, eyebrows lifting.

"Yes. All demons' claws secrete a slow-acting poison that is fatal only if left untreated for many hours, though it causes a significant amount of pain as it spreads through the body. This particular demon"—she gazed steadily at her fellow Captains—"also possessed venom that is lethal beyond any I have ever encountered. Had the demon's fangs broken Captain Hitsugaya's skin, he would have died instantly."

Rangiku pressed one hand against her chest. "You mean the venom did that to him just from—from—"

"From contact with his skin, yes," Uohana said. She again looked at the other Captains. "Should another demon appear, I would recommend extreme caution. Demons are as many varied and ever changing as the clouds. They cannot be predicted."

She walked slowly down the hall, pausing only to lay a comforting hand on Rangiku's arm.

Jūshirō leaned back against the wall behind him with a sigh. "A demon in Seireitei."

Nanao frowned at the closed door to Tōshirō's room as though she could see the recuperating Captain inside. "A demon in Seireitei who nearly killed a Captain."

"How did it get in?" Rangiku asked.

"Why would it come here in the first place?" Shunsui murmured.

Jūshirō sighed heavily, gazing sadly at Tōshirō's door. "We can answer neither question. After all, what do we really know about demons?"

Byakuya stepped away from them. "We don't know enough to protect Soul Society," he said quietly, walking down the hall after Uohana, "but the Akki Yokujin do."

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**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

I'm not normally the type of writer who asks for reviews. I don't think it's fair to put an obligation on readers to review a story, as reviewing is a courtesy, not a requirement. After all, writers (should) share their writing so that others can enjoy reading it, not just for reviews.

However, I can't deny that I've found the lack of reviews so far this story to be extremely discouraging. I really enjoy hearing from readers, getting their feedback, and knowing their thoughts on the story's progression. So, if you have a moment after reading each chapter, I would really appreciate a review, no matter how short or simple it may be.

Thanks very much.

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GLOSSARY:

**Daiguren Hyōrinmaru** ("Great Crimson Lotus Ice Ring") - Hyōrinmaru's Bankai form.

**Saiu** - Literally "misty rain".

**Miyasama** - Prince.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **Bleach does not belong to me, but Matsuo Nakita, Nakajima Seiko, and Saiu do.

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DEVIL'S SMILE

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Chapter 6

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"Are you _sure_?"

"Ask that one more time and I'll stitch your mouth shut," Nakita said irritably. She tapped one finger against her bottom lip in a rare moment of fidgeting. "It _will_ come."

Seiko watched her out of the corner of one eye. "It's just an ogre, right? What's got you so uptight?"

She huffed out a breath, crossing her arms to keep her fingers still. Allowing her eyes to slide out of focus, she watched as the world around her softened and blurred. Swirling lights and patterns danced in her vision, thousands of threads of information, each telling her something different. Simple, complex, profound, the images she saw would be meaningless to anyone but another highly trained Ekisha—and even many of them would be lost within the sheer overload of detail her Diviner's Sight revealed.

Nakita was not lost amongst the uncountable, subtle messages that explained the world and more. Every flicker of light, every spiral of shifting pattern she could read as easily as she could breathe. Her only difficulty was the limit of time; in a thousand years she could not read every message her sight brought her.

Focusing her eyes on the mundane world again, she rubbed her temples, soothing the throbbing pain.

"You're pushing yourself too hard," Seiko admonished roughly. "Give it a rest."

"There's no time for resting," she muttered. Flicking a bit of fuzz off the front piece of her skirt, she frowned at her partner. "Keep a sharp eye, Seiko. I know the demon will show itself here. But why I can know that so clearly is most disquieting. I think . . . it wants us to know."

"A trap?"

"Most likely."

He grinned wolfishly. "Then we'll just have to spring it, won't we?"

"Does the word 'caution' have any meaning whatsoever for you?"

His grin only grew. "Think the Shinigami kid will show up again? You know, I think if he'd been alone, he might have figured things out before the demon killed him. He just might have defeated it."

She pursed her lips. "Perhaps. Ogres aren't difficult prey if you can overcome their aura. As for whether he'll come tonight . . ." She looked around behind them.

The lights of Karakura Town stretched for miles, lighting the sky all the way to the far horizon. The river glistened palely, reflecting the moon's light. Traffic headlights crawled like tiny insects along the dark roads, and most of the town slept.

Bitter disgust twisted in her belly; stupid humans sleeping in their warm beds, ignorant and innocent. Whining about their petty troubles, oblivious to the pain and blood and deaths of the Yokujin who worked tirelessly, endlessly, to keep the minions of Hell from devouring their world.

Relaxing her clenched jaw, she turned her eyes back to the dark, abandoned construction lot in front of them. A half-built warehouse slowly rotted on its stretch of muddy ground. Rusting equipment lay in tangled heaps. The twisting flickers of demon magic danced everywhere, visible to her even without invoking her Diviner's Sight.

"I guess we're a bit too far away," Seiko mused, correctly interpreting Nakita's silence. There was a hint of disappointment in his deep voice. "I would have liked to see the kid fight for real."

"Fight and die, most likely," Nakita snapped impatiently, though in truth she knew that the boy-Shinigami was entirely capable of defeating an ogre. She had already recognized his enormous potential, a potential he was only beginning to tap. The Shinigami were wasting his talents, the blind fools.

"What do you think of him anyway?" Seiko started to smirk. "I suppose he was kinda handsome, eh? Running around with that giant sword of his—Hey!"

He dodged her fist, barely. Laughing, he held up both hands in surrender. "Okay, okay, get a grip."

She returned to watching the muddy plot of land. "Don't insult my intelligence, Seiko," she said coldly. "He's human, he's living, he's a Shinigami, and he's young."

"Young? That's a bit rich, coming from you."

She shot him a frosty glare. "He's _alive_, Seiko, didn't you hear me?"

"Wait—you mean he's not a regular Shinigami?"

"No. He's a living boy. I have no idea how he came to possess Shinigami powers without dying and passing to Soul Society first."

"Damn." Seiko shook his head. "He's a weird one, eh?" He smirked. "Kinda like you, Kita."

"Shut up before I—" The shimmers of demon magic suddenly swirled, and her nerves tingled from the approaching power. "It's coming, Seiko." Her instincts screamed in warning, and she switched to her Diviner's Sight.

Her lungs locked and her blood ran cold. Blinking her vision back to normal, she extended both arms in front of her, palms facing one another, fingers spread. Black light sparked in the space between her hands, glowing eerily. With a whirl of spiralling wind, the light shot up and down from the center point, solidifying into Hiren, her Akkihasaiki—the Yokujin equivalent of a Zanpakutō.

The long, smooth haft of her weapon was a black so dark it appeared two-dimensional; light did not reflect off its surface, creating neither highlight nor shadow to define it. Its entire length was about four inches longer than she was tall, with curved, foot-long blades at each end. Burnished steel gleamed brightly, forming the single cutting edge of each blade, facing in opposite directions.

She clenched her fingers around Hiren's haft, and glowing red symbols came to life along its length, coiling and twisting over the entire weapon. Seiko stared at her.

"Kita?" he said, his voice low with shock, for she summoned her Akkihasaiki only when she intended to join in battle with him.

"That's no ogre coming," she hissed. "Summon Reppai, quickly!"

Eyes widening, he cupped his hands. In a flash of dark red light, the great broadsword came into being in his grip, ready to be wielded.

The demon was coming quickly now, tearing through the dimensional barriers between Hell and the living world. Its crushing reiatsu was suffocating, filling the air with electricity and pressing down on her body. With a deafening crack the earth split, and from the great rend murky red and green light drifted upwards.

Nakita switched briefly to her Diviner's vision again, and her heart leaped into her throat. "No," she whispered. "Impossible."

The demon climbed from the swirling light, lumbering to stand in front of the tear in the ground that cut through dimensions. It was not as large as the ogre they'd helped the boy-Shinigami fight, this one standing at about eleven feet. It was muscular but not bulky, with an almost human build. Two immense horns protruded from its temples. Its skin was blue-black, its fingers clawed and its feet ending in sharp, cloven hooves.

Clinging to its arms and shoulders were three snake-imps. The small, speedy demons had skin even darker than the larger demon, and two long, deadly snake fangs in their otherwise empty mouths. Without the more powerful demon, they could not have passed through the dimensional tear. The larger demon, called a minotaur for its bull-like horns, had carried the weaker demons through.

Impossible. Demons did not work together.

The minotaur grinned at them, its disturbingly human face alight with cruel arrogance. "_Surprised, Yokujin pests?_"

A scream tore from Nakita's throat as the demon's high voice ripped through her mind. Her vision burned white and blood ran from her ears. Her knees hit the ground. Stomach clenching, she barely managed not to retch. Seiko staggered, scarcely able to stand.

"_Ah, so weak—_"

"_Yasurakananemuri!_" she shrieked, flinging one hand blindly in the direction of the minotaur.

The spell of silence must have hit, for the demon made no more sound. Using Hiren to push herself to her feet, she shakily wiped the blood from the sides of her neck. The minotaur glared at her, its eyes burning with hatred, but its voice was sealed.

"Devil's spit," Seiko swore weakly. "Am I damn glad to have you for a partner, Kita. How many other Ekisha can cast Silence without the incantation?"

"About eight," she said dryly, "give or take a couple." She struggled to clear her mind of emotion, thickening the barrier of her reiatsu around her body. "Now what?" she whispered.

"I don't know."

Ogres were a Class 6 demon: big, stupid, and easy to kill. Snake-imps were Class 5: small and fast with a deadly bite, but physically unable to withstand powerful attacks. Minotaurs were Class 3: cunning, powerful, and extremely difficult to kill. Two Yokujin didn't stand a chance against a Class 3 demon. Normally, no fewer than six Hunters would battle one, for with any less than six a victory could not be assured.

They alone faced one Class 3 demon and three Class 5 demons.

Baring its teeth in a grin as it felt their shock and dismay, the minotaur cast pointed one claw at Nakita. With gaping, silent laughter, the three snake-imps dropped from their demon perch and charged her.

"Kita!" Seiko yelled, lifting Reppai to defend her—just as the minotaur planned.

"Watch out!" she screamed.

Before the snake-imps could reach her, the minotaur was on Seiko. Its claws tore down the length of the Slayer's back, but Seiko spun with the force of the blow to bring Reppai whistling towards the demon's face. It grinned and vanished. Seiko flash-stepped too, his broadsword swinging around to block as the minotaur shot at his back again.

Nakita followed Seiko's battle with one corner of her mind, the rest of her attention locked on surviving each second. Hiren spun in a black blur, flashing through the air. The snake-imps circled her, lunging and swiping, trying to break through her guard. She was just a shade faster, whipping the double-bladed halberd in their faces, forcing them back again and again.

The minotaur wasn't as smart as it thought it was. Had it set the snake-imps on Seiko to delay him, and attacked Nakita itself, she would have died in moments, unable to withstand the power of its attacks. Seiko could have killed the imps with only a little trouble, but it would have been too late for him to save Nakita.

So why hadn't the demon done exactly that?

Probably because it didn't really matter, she thought, lunging forward. Planting the point of one of Hiren's blades into the ground, she leaped and spun with the haft as her pivot to slam both booted feet into the chest of an imp. Landing lightly, she twirled Hiren, bringing the haft along her side under her arm to spear the snake-imp lunging at her back.

It didn't matter because on the off-chance that she could kill all three imps without dying, she would be too late to help Seiko. The minotaur had chosen this strategy because it would drag out their pain and suffering, enhance the agony of their deaths as they both fought desperately for victory so they could save the other.

Unfortunately, three-on-one was not good odds for anyone. Nakita fought with increasing desperation, and gaps appeared in her guard. Claws tore her arms, legs, back, stomach. She kept their fatal teeth away from her flesh, but they were too fast and too many for her to do more than defend with Hiren. But Hiren wasn't her only weapon.

"_Shō!_" she cried, flinging out a hand.

The nearest imp was flung backwards by the simple Thrust spell. She spun Hiren, cutting deep into the flesh of the second imp.

"_Hainawa._"

A rope of golden light flowed down Hiren's blade to entangle the third imp, binding it tightly. The spell was too weak to hold it long, just long enough for—

"Hadō #54: _Haien._"

She swung Hiren, and the deadly sphere of purple energy riding on the blade smashed into the wounded imp, instantly engulfing it in voracious red flames. Its dying scream of agony went unheard, sealed by the Silence, as its body was consumed completely. She flash-stepped just before the first imp would have landed on her back, whirling to face it as it came after her. The imp trapped by her Crawling Rope spell burst free, mouth gaping in an enraged cry.

"_Seki!_" she yelled, thrusting Hiren out in front of her.

The two imps hit the shimmering shield that expanded in front of her and were thrown backwards.

"_Hyapporankan._"

A rod of pure energy formed in her right hand. Lifting her arm, she hurled it with all her strength at the two imps. It burst into dozens of rods in midair, and the deluge struck both of the small demons, impaling them and pinning them to the ground.

The level of Eishohaki she was using to speed her casting was weakening the spells too much. The binding wouldn't last long.

"Sprinkled on the bones of the beast," she chanted swiftly. "Sharp tower, red crystal, steel ring. Move and become the wind, stop and become the calm. The sound of warring spears—"

The minotaur appeared in front of her, grinning malevolently. Before she could raise Hiren, it backhanded her across the face.

Agony exploded through her skull. She didn't realize she'd been thrown by the force of the blow until she hit the ground, tumbling down the slope littered with construction supplies. She clutched Hiren to her chest as she rolled and jolted down the incline to slam hard into a pile of building stones.

Her body burned with demon poison, seared from the open wounds, ached with countless bruises. She lay on her stomach in the mud, struggling to breathe. Black spots danced in her vision and the pain in her face was blinding. Her arm twitched, refusing to move.

She felt her binding on the snake-imps shatter somewhere above her.

"Fills," she gasped, "the empty castle." She worked her arm underneath her. "Hadō #63." She pushed with her arm, flipping onto her back. She lifted both hands towards the minotaur, standing silhouetted on the hilltop, and screamed triumphantly, "_Raikōhō!_"

A canon blast of pure golden energy erupted from her hands and rocketed with howling force at the minotaur. It flung it arms out in front of it, but she had completed the incantation. The power of her spell was unmatched. Thunder boomed. The hillside disintegrated. Golden light lit up the sky.

As the spell faded, she propped herself up on one elbow. Her vision blurred as she looked with Diviner's eyes for the minotaur.

She could perceive it clearly, though it was beyond her physical sight. It was not dead. The force of her Thunder Roar Canon had tore most of the flesh from its arms as it tried to block the spell. The skin and muscle on its torso was split in many places and bleeding heavily. It was alive, but wounded. Maybe wounded enough that Seiko could defeat it.

Her partner was also wounded, but she had faith in his ability to fight mercilessly in spite of injuries. He was tougher than anything, Seiko.

The small, silently laughing forms of the two remaining snake-imps appeared on the demolished hilltop, grinning down at her. She grabbed Hiren and forced her screaming body to stand. The imps trotted leisurely down the slope, always willing to play with their food once they'd beat the fight out of it.

Their mistake. She wasn't done fighting until she was dead.

She pointed a finger at the nearer imp. "_Byakurai!_"

Blue lightning shot from her finger, streaking across the intervening space to strike the imp square in the chest. Blood sprayed as it was hurled backwards. It hit the ground, stunned but alive. The second imp bared its fangs and charged.

Nakita cast one swift look in the direction where she knew Seiko battled the minotaur. How long could he last?

"I'll come back," she whispered. "Wait for me."

Then she spun around, clutching Hiren, and fled.

Her Shunpo was fast, faster than the snake-imp. It slowly lost ground on her, but it would pursue her across continents until she couldn't take another step. It didn't matter. She wasn't planning to run forever.

Her power reserves were running low, and her body was weakening from her wounds and the demon poison spreading through her body. The power required to maintain the Silencing spell on the demons was almost more than she could handle. Her ability to repel the demonic aura was flagging. Even if she could kill the two imps, she would be of no use to Seiko. One or both of them would both die.

She had to bring help. She _would_ bring help. And she knew of only one person close enough and strong enough to save them.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE:

A great big huge thank-you to everyone who reviewed since last chapter! I loved every review I got. Thanks so much!

(And wow, long glossary this chapter...)

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GLOSSARY:

**Hiren** ("Blighted Love") - Matsuo Nakita's Akkihasaiki.*

**Akkihasaiki** ("Evil Spirit Crusher") - The Demon Hunter equivalent of a Zanpakutō, unique to each individual Hunter and summoned only for battle; summoning is similar to a Zanpakutō's Shikai.*

**Reppai** ("Defeat of the Weaker") - Nakajima Seiko's Akkihasaiki.*

**Yasurakananemuri **("Peaceful Sleep") - A Kidō spell to seal a target's voice; the target is still capable of using Kidō of their own even though their voice has no sound.*

**Sh****ō** ("Thrust") - Hadō #1: a Kidō spell that pushes the target away from the caster.

**Hainawa** ("Crawling Rope") - Bakudō #4: a Kidō spell that creates a long rope of golden energy that entangles the target's arms.

**Hadō** ("Way of Destruction") - A broad category of offensive Kidō spells that harm the target or otherwise cause damage.

**Haien** ("Abolishing Flames") - Hadō #54: a Kidō spell that fires a sphere of purple spiritual energy that incinerates the target on contact.

**Seki** ("Repulse") - Bakudō #8; a Kidō spell that creates a round shield to temporarily paralyze and repel whatever hits it.

**Hyapporankan** ("Hundred Steps Fence") - Bakudō #62: a Kidō spell consisting of a rod of energy that is thrown at a target. Before striking, the rod disintegrates into numerous smaller rods that pin the target to their surroundings and render them immobile.

**Raihōkō** ("Thunder Roar Canon") - Bakudō #63: a Kidō spell that fires a massive wave of yellow energy at the target.

**Byakurai** ("Pale Lightning") - Hadō #4: a Kidō spell that fires a concentrated, powerful bolt of lightning from the finger.

*Denotes a non-canon term/concept.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **Bleach does not belong to me, but Matsuo Nakita, Nakajima Seiko, and Saiu do.

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DEVIL'S SMILE

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Chapter 7

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"Shinigami."

Ichigo turned his face into his pillow, distant irritation drifting through his sleeping brain.

"_Shinigami_."

He mumbled and burrowed deeper into the covers. He was too tired to do any Shinigami work. Didn't he ever get a night off?

"_Kurosaki Ichigo!_"

His eyes snapped open as it finally registered in his sleep-fuddled mind that the tired, angry voice calling him didn't not belong to Rukia. Rolling over and sitting up, he yelped when his head collided painfully with that of the person leaning over his bed.

"Ow," he groaned, pressing a palm to his scalp as he looked up. A small, dark form stood by beside his bed.

"Shinigami, I need your help."

"Kita?" he asked in surprise, finally recognizing her voice. "What are you doing here?" Swinging his legs off the bed, he fumbled for the lamp on his desk. Light flooded the room, illuminating the Yokujin standing in his bedroom. He gasped.

Both deep and shallow cuts, all in sets of three, crisscrossed her sides and belly, slashed down her arms, and sliced across her legs. Blood streaked her too-pale skin, mixed mud and grit. The side of her face was a solid black and purple contusion. Blood trickled down her chin from a split lip, and her clothes were torn and filthy.

In spite of all that, she stood straight and unbowed by her injuries. Only the tightness in her face and weariness in her eyes gave any sign that she was aware of the pain that must be nearly overwhelming.

"What happened?" he demanded, jumping up from his bed. "Shit! You're bleeding everywhere—I'll get Inoue. You sit—"

"I've stopped the bleeding," she interrupted, dismissing her wounds. "I need your help. We were ambushed; Seiko can't handle it on his own. I—I left him, and came for help."

He saw the flash of agony in her eyes and knew that leaving her partner behind had caused her far more pain than any physical injury.

"Of course I'll help!" He grabbed his Shinigami permit off his desk.

"Wait," she said, lifting one hand. "You have to know—this demon isn't like the other one. It's much, much more powerful. There's a chance it will kill us all."

"That's always a risk," Ichigo said impatiently. "That's why it's called a battle." He pressed the badge to his chest, and his spirit body burst free.

As his body crumpled to the floor, the bedroom door swung open and Rukia ran in, stopping dead at the sight of Kita. "What's happened?" she demanded.

"Seiko needs help," Ichigo explained quickly. "Rukia—go get Inoue and bring her to Urahara's. Renji should be there, grab him and come after us, okay?"

She nodded, not wasting time with needless questions. "Be careful, Ichigo." The small Shinigami turned to Kita, stepped up in her face, and levelled the Diviner with a look that would have frightened a demon. "If Ichigo gets hurt because of you, _you_ will answer to me."

Kita returned her look, not even a little intimidated. "Ichigo had chosen freely to help me. I am not his keeper. However," she added as Rukia stiffened angrily, "I will do everything in my power to keep him alive." There was no fear in Kita's eyes, no hesitancy, no desperation. "If it comes to it, I can promise you that I will die before he does."

She wouldn't if he had any say about it, thought Ichigo, but Rukia seemed to be satisfied with Kita's promise.

"All right," Rukia said. "Renji and I will be—"

Kita spun around so fast Ichigo barely saw her move. He had no idea where it came from, but suddenly there was a great black weapon in her hands. She lunged across the room towards the window, the foot-long blade at the end of the weapon gleaming.

Something screamed, and a small, dark beast appeared as the blade pierced its chest, driving it to the floor and pinning it.

Ichigo and Rukia both drew their Zanpakutō. Kita leaned her weight on the haft of her weapon, driving the blade a little deeper. The demon writhed weakly, whimpering. It opened its mouth, baring long, twin fangs.

"Kill it, please," Kita said. Though she sounded calm, Ichigo could hear the strain in her voice.

He lifted Zangetsu, but Rukia was faster. She darted in and slashed once, taking off the demon's head. It body seemed to deflate, and the stench coming off it doubled in intensity. Ichigo cringed as greenish-black blood soaked into his carpet.

Kita pulled her weapon free of the body and wiped one mucky armguard across her sweat-damp forehead. "We were ambushed," she said again quietly. "Seiko battles the powerful demon, while three of these hunted me. There's still one more."

"Doesn't Seiko need your help?" Ichigo asked with a frown. "Urahara said that it was the Diviner's job to counteract the demon's magic while the Slayer fought."

She looked at him and again he saw the anguish in her eyes. "That's why it was an ambush. I've never known demons to fight as a team."

"There's no time to waste," Rukia said quickly. "I'm going, Ichigo."

"I'll see you soon." He turned to Kita. "Let's go."

They sprang from the window and used Shunpo to travel several blocks, but Ichigo brought them to a stop after only a minute.

"I'm going to use Bankai now," he said. "I can travel a lot faster with it."

She nodded, leaning wearily on her weapon.

Lifting Zangetsu in one hand to point the blade straight ahead, he wrapped the fingers of the other around his wrist to steady the blade.

"Bankai."

Power blasted outward from his body, swirling madly. It shuddered through him, then sucked into Zangetsu, transforming the blade. As the power settled, he lifted Tensa Zangetsu in one hand and looked at Kita. She was peering curiously at the black blade. She held up hers.

"We match," she said dryly.

He grinned briefly. "I think yours is a bit _more_ black. Will you let me carry you the rest of the way? It'll be faster, and you can rest for a couple minutes."

With a nod, she lifted her weapon. Its shape softened, then dissolved into black light that faded to nothing. Empty handed, she climbed easily onto Ichigo's back, resting her hands lightly on each of his shoulders. He tried to pretend he wasn't acutely aware of her bare thighs wrapped around his waist, and fought the blush trying to rise into his cheeks.

"Okay," he said, clearing his throat. "Let's go."

He launched into Shunpo, heading for the sky before flashing over the length of the city. He could feel the demon's reiatsu now, growing steadily stronger as they neared it. Kita hadn't been exaggerating. This one was _much_ stronger than the last one he'd fought. As they drew closer, Ichigo thickened his reiatsu around his body. It was much easier with his Bankai released, though he didn't know why that was. Ishida probably could have explained it, but Ichigo was merely glad of the fact.

Kita's fingers dug into his shoulders. "Seiko is still fighting, but he's badly hurt."

"You can tell that from _here_? I can't even see them yet."

"I'm a Diviner, Kurosaki Ichigo. I don't have to _see _to know something."

"When we have time, you going to have to explain to me how that works. And call me Ichigo, okay?"

She was quiet for a moment. "Ichigo. Thank you for helping. You've a generous heart."

He was glad she couldn't see his face, which felt a little hot. "Well, I sort of you owe you anyway, don't I?"

The air was heavy with reiatsu, crushing down on his shoulders, as he approached what looked like a large half-built and now demolished building. The silence was far too ominous.

"There!" Kita cried, pointing.

Ichigo squinted in the darkness, barely penetrated by the moon above and the city lights behind them. Near the top of a hill by the crushed building was a blob of darkness. He squinted. Something large—ten or eleven feet tall—with big horns was standing over something else. Ichigo flash-stepped, lifting Zangetsu.

Seiko was on his back, sword held crosswise in front of his body. The demon was standing with hoof on each side of the Slayer, claws hooked on Seiko's weapon, trying to push it away so it could deliver the final blow.

"'Oy, demon!" Ichigo bellowed.

The beast looked up, saw the black blade heading for its forehead, and sprang back. Its horned face was just close enough to human to freak Ichigo out, but he kept his emotions under tight control. Landing between Seiko and the demon, he felt Kita slide from his back.

"Hey, Kita," Seiko grunted wearily. "About time. I see you brought the kid. Good idea."

"I see you managed not to die. Good job."

"Gee, thanks."

"Ichigo," Kita said.

He dared not take his eyes off the demon, who was measuring him up while it licked its claws clean, so he tilted his head to one side to indicate he was listening.

"The best way to kill a demon is to destroy the head. Cut it in half or cut it off. It won't die immediately even if you pierce its heart, so best go for the head if you can."

"All right."

"It's quick and strong. Attack fast and hard, with everything you have. I'll block its magic. You just worry about killing it."

He didn't ask how she was going to manage to block its magic when she could hardly stand, but he didn't question. Instead, he released his reiatsu and prepared to battle. The air shuddered, vibrating as his power flooded the area. Zangetsu's black light lit his body, pushing away the demonic aura even more.

The demon's red eyes went wide, shock rippling across its face. It bared its teeth at him, lifting both clawed hands. It was already in bad shape; both arms were almost fleshless, and it was bleeding from a number of deep sword slashes. Like Kita, it seemed unaware of its wounds, but unlike Kita, it didn't seem to be weakened as much by them.

"All right," Ichigo said again, planting his feet in the mud. "Here I go."

He lunged, black power dragging from his blade.

"_Getsuga Tenshō!_"

A massive wave of black energy roared off the sword, blasting towards the demon. Ichigo flashed-stepped to the left and shot Getsuga Tenshō again, his speed even greater than that of the energy attack. The demon dodged the first blast—and was hit by the second. Black energy exploded everywhere, sending mud and rocks flying.

Ichigo flash-stepped through the debris. The demon burst from the cloud of muck, one arm burned away by the attack. He shot at the demon, swinging Zangetsu with a yell. It ducked, slashing with its claws, but he flash-stepped out of the way. The demon's strength was spent, and it was slowing down with each second.

Opening its mouth in a silent roar—didn't it have a voice?—it began to move its mouth as though it were speaking. It lifted one hand towards Ichigo.

A double blast of blue fire burst from its hand, howling through the air for Ichigo. He flash-stepped, but the fire was everywhere, surrounding him, far more powerful than any spell he'd seen Rukia cast. He twisted in the air, searching for a way out—

A sheer, faintly glowing barrier formed in front of him. The blue fire slammed into it, piling up on the shield. Seeing his chance, Ichigo flash-stepped above the barrier, spotted the demon, and lifted Zangetsu.

"_Getsuga Tenshō!_"

The black crescent moon roared towards the demon, and Ichigo flash-stepped again.

The demon dodged just in the nick of time, and Ichigo came around behind it, his blade whistling through the air. With a sickening splatter of blood, Zangetsu cleaved through the demon's neck, sending its horned head spinning into the darkness. Its body fell, crunching when it landed on a pile of metal pipes.

Ichigo stood for a moment, breathing hard, then ran towards the other two. Kita was sitting beside Seiko, who was still stretched out on the ground, his sword now gone.

"Nice move," Seiko said weakly. "Aiming your blast a little to one side to force it to dodge in the direction you wanted so you could be waiting for it. Excellent."

"You'd done most of the work already," he said quickly, eyeing the Yokujin's wounds. "How are you doing?"

"Not dead yet," he said. "Kita's damn good at healing spells; she'll fix me up just as soon as her head stops spinning." He managed to cast a smile at his partner, and Ichigo saw that she had one hand pressed over her eyes and her face was ghostly pale under the bruises, blood, and dirt.

"That last spell was a little hard on her," Seiko explained in a confidential whisper. "Bakudō #81. You don't just throw up a Splitting Void barrier with a shrug and smile when you're half dead."

"I'm not half dead," Kita said tartly, lowering her hand. "_You're_ the half dead one."

"Am not," he said. "You—" He started to cough, and in moments he was gasping and hacking, clutching at his throat.

"Seiko!"

Kita spun towards him and Ichigo sprang forward, each of them kneeling on one side of the choking man.

"What's wrong with him?"

"I don't know!" She put both hands on his chest, her eyes going out of focus. Her pupils dilated eerily. "Here," she said suddenly, blinking her eyes back to normal. She pushed aside the torn collar of Seiko's coat and touched a large, purple swelling on the side of his neck. "The pressure is cutting off his air."

"What do we do?" Ichigo demanded. Seiko was starting to turn blue.

Kita pulled a tiny, flat dagger from under the black guard on her left arm, spun it in her hand until the blade was resting under her index finger, and pressed to the tip to the swelling. With a steady hand, she sliced down the length of it. Blackish pus mixed with blood burst from the opening, oozing down his neck.

Seiko gasped, his chest heaving, and they knew he could breathe again.

"Damn," Ichigo said. "That was close. Quick thinking, Kita." He looked around at her. "Kita?"

She was leaning over Seiko, watching him worriedly, her eyes large with relief, her face still too pale and smudged with dirt and blood. In that moment he knew she'd forgotten he was there, because in that moment, he saw something he hadn't seen before: She was young.

With her feminine curves and cold face, he'd thought she was about Rangiku's age. But now, looking at her, he realized how far off he was. Kita wasn't Rangiku's age. She was much younger than that. If he had to take a guess, he would say that Kita was around the same age as Tōshirō.

In that moment, the lines and angles of her face had softened, the hard reddish-purple of her eyes gentling to warm violet. Ichigo noticed again how small she was, how fragile she looked covered in muck and blood, with strands of hair escaping her severe braided bun and the long, tied locks hanging in front of her shoulders tangled and dishevelled.

And then she noticed his eyes on her and her guard went up again, face hardening, eyes turning cold. "What?" she asked flatly.

He replied without thinking. "Why do you try so hard to pretend you're so much older than you really are?"

Her eyes turned even frostier. "I _am_ much older than you."

"I know that," he said quickly. "I meant, even for a soul, you're pretty young, right? Not—not as old as . . ." He trailed off, unnerved by the anger growing behind the ice in her eyes.

He knew age was a whole different concept when it came to Shinigami—and Yokujin too, apparently. After all, Rukia told him once that she was ten times his age, yet she looked like a teenager. Rukia's Captain, Ukitake, looked fairly youthful even though he was actually hundreds of years old. Tōshirō, who looked about fourteen—a short fourteen—was decades older than Ichigo and still considered very young by Soul Society standards.

What were the standards for the Yokujin? If Kita was young for her abilities and position, shouldn't she be proud? Why go to so much trouble to seem older?

But he didn't ask, because she was still glaring at him like he'd insulted her mother.

"Quit . . . acting . . . like such a bitchy old hag, Kita," Seiko said, his deep voice scratchy and weak. "Answer the damn question."

She turned her glower on him. He stared back unflinchingly, and after a moment, Kita averted her eyes.

"It's safer," she muttered.

"Huh?" Ichigo asked blankly.

"It's safer for me to seem older," she said, still looking away. "It's safer if no one knows that my . . . abilities aren't fully matured. If . . . certain factions . . . found out that my talents could grow beyond their current state, it's likely I would be quietly killed."

His eyes widened. "They'd think you're too dangerous if they knew you could get stronger as you get older? Do you mean certain factions of the Demon Hunters? Why wouldn't they be glad to have such a powerful Diviner on their side?"

She shrugged. "It's complicated. At any rate," she said, finally looking at him, her large eyes slightly haunted, "most everyone thinks my abilities are just about maxed out, and that's what I want them to think, so keep your trap shut."

He nodded. "I won't tell a soul," he told her gravely, and saw her relax as she absorbed the promise.

She looked down at Seiko. "I guess I should see about healing you now."

"Don't worry about it," Ichigo said. "Once they get here, Renji and Rukia can help me get you two to Urahara's place. Inoue will take care of all your wounds."

"Sounds good," Seiko said quickly, cutting off Kita's protest. "You don't have to do _everything_," he said to her, rolling his eyes.

She sighed and sat back, folding her legs under her. She closed her eyes, weariness etched into her face.

Ichigo watched her while they waited. He wondered what kind of people would want to kill her for being so talented, and he wondered where she had come from. What place had hardened her into a young woman with the resolve and ability to utterly hide her true self and become someone else in order to fool her enemies—and her friends?

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. x : X : x .

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AUTHOR'S NOTE:

For anyone who's curious, the Kidō spell the demon used was Hadō #63: Sōren Sōkatsui ("Twin Lotus Blue Fire, Crash Down"). I should point out that my seemingly exceptional knowledge of Kidō is entirely thanks to Bleach Wiki, which has an amazingly detailed record of all the spells from the anime and manga, along with a load of other Bleach-y information. Check it out at bleach(dot)wikia(dot)com, but watch out for spoilers if you're not up-to-date on the manga.

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GLOSSARY:

**Tensa Zangetsu** ("Heavenly Chain Cutting Moon") - Zangetsu's Bankai form.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: **Bleach does not belong to me, but Nakita, Seiko, and Saiu do.

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DEVIL'S SMILE

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Chapter 8

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Beyond the healing glow of Sōten Kisshun, Orihime watched the Yokujin, Matsuo Nakita.

This was Orihime's first time seeing the female Demon Hunter. She was shocked that the woman was sitting there so calmly while covered in wounds, not to mention mud and grit and something blackish-green that was probably demon blood. Even in that condition, Orihime thought Nakita was just too beautiful, with her rich, deep red hair, lovely face—efxquisite even with that terrible bruise—and large eyes.

Not to mention that even with a blanket over her shoulders, Nakita's slim but curvy body was all too visible.

Orihime turned her eyes down to watch the slow progress of the healing she was doing on Nakita's partner, Seiko. The huge man, far surpassing Chad in size and muscular bulk, had his eyes closed and appeared to be asleep. Orihime sighed, watching him instead of watching the way Kurosaki's eyes lingered on Nakita's face.

It was terrible of her to be feeling so jealous of Nakita. The poor woman had just been through a terrible ordeal. Even more so, she wasn't as cold and callous as she seemed; she'd insisted that Orihime heal her partner first. She wouldn't even let Orihime heal them both together, for Nakita wanted Orihime to devote her full attention and energy to her partner's wellbeing.

But Nakita was so beautiful, so small and delicate and graceful. She made Orihime feel like a clumsy giant, and Kurosaki kept watching the little redhead.

"Is it such a strange thing for demons to combine forces?" Urahara asked. He, Rukia, and Renji were sitting in the room too, also watching Nakita so very closely. "Hollows will kill one another, but they are also capable of working together for a mutual purpose."

Nakita shook her head. "Demons are driven by instinct," she replied in her light, musical voice. "Stronger demons attack weaker demons. Weaker demons flee stronger demons. Occasionally, a group of weaker demons will attack a stronger demon together, but it's only because they see the advantage and react. This was entirely different. Four demons of different Classes calculated a strategy and enacted it flawlessly."

"Classes?" Kurosaki asked, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his knees. Orihime looked away from the intensity of his eyes as he gazed at Nakita.

She sighed. "I'm probably going to get in trouble for telling you all this. Demons are classified into six levels of power, with six being the weakest and one being the strongest. There are demons too weak to rank in Class 6, but they aren't any threat. The minotaur you fought tonight—the large demon—was a Class 3, and the smaller ones were Class 5. Normally, the minotaur would have slaughtered the snake-imps. The minotaur was intelligent enough to come up with the ambush, but its instincts should have overruled its logical mind, and the snake-imps should have been running for their lives."

"So what could make demons work as a team like that?"

Nakita shrugged. "I've never seen demons act like that before."

Orihime's eyes narrowed slightly. Nakita hadn't answered Kurosaki's question. It seemed her evasion did not slip past Urahara either.

"Give us your best guess," the older man said cheerfully, but with iron underneath the casual command.

Nakita cast him a long look. He returned it, and a staring contest that lasted nearly a minute commenced.

Orihime winced inwardly. She couldn't imagine how Nakita was standing up to Urahara like that. He was their senior, and very knowledgeable, and occasionally very intimidating. Orihime hadn't seen the full extent of his intimidating side personally, but she knew it was there. She was good at reading people that way. Just as she knew that Nakita was keeping many, many secrets from them.

"You're a persistent old badger," Nakita finally snapped, apparently losing patience with the staring contest.

Urahara grinned. "Age and experience, my dear."

She looked up at the ceiling, the muscles in her jaw flexing. "Normal demons can overcome their instincts and unite if they're given a command by a demon lord. The will of the demon lord binds them to obey, allowing the lesser demons to disregard their instincts and use their heads."

There was a long silence.

"So you were ambushed," Kurosaki said slowly, "by a group of demons ordered to attack you by a demon lord?"

"It seems so."

Kurosaki's eyebrows came down. "Do you think it has anything to do with . . . what you mentioned earlier?"

"I doubt it," Nakita said, her voice suddenly cutting, edged with warning.

Orihime bit her lower lip and looked down again. So Nakita had already drawn Kurosaki into one of her secrets. Where else would she drag him? Where else would he so willingly follow her?

Urahara, Renji, and Rukia launched into a discussion of demon tactics. Kurosaki sat quietly, staring at the tabletop with a scowl turning his mouth down—his deep-in-thought expression. It made him look angry, but she knew he wasn't. Just grim and sombre.

Nakita shifted over to kneel across from Orihime, Seiko between them under the golden shield.

"How is he?"

"He'll be fine in no time!" Orihime said brightly, beaming at the woman.

Nakita sighed in relief, and Orihime took a closer look. Guilt slashed at her heart as she saw the concern glowing in Nakita's eyes, overshadowed by deep, encompassing exhaustion. How could she be thinking such harsh things about Nakita? She didn't know her at all.

"How are you?" Orihime asked, her grin softening into a more natural smile.

Nakita shrugged. "I'm not going to die from these," she said, waving a dismissive hand at her ravaged body. "I'm tired though," she admitted after glancing at Orihime's incredulous expression. "I'm looking forward to getting a solid night's sleep after this."

"But . . ." Orihime struggled with Nakita's careless attitude towards her own body. "Doesn't it hurt?"

Nakita lifted her shoulders in another shrug. "What is pain?" She suddenly yawned, clapping a hand to her mouth. "Excuse me."

"What do you mean, 'what is pain'?"

The other woman looked at Orihime with eyes that seemed a thousand years old. "What is pain compared to a comrade's life? What is pain compared to a companion's safety? What is pain compared to my oath as a Yokujin? Pain is nothing when you look at it in the right perspective."

They stared at one another, and there was something strange about Nakita's eyes. She seemed to look _into_ Orihime without looking at her at all.

And then Nakita smiled. It was a very small curving of her lips, but it was a real smile, and for a moment she looked much younger. "To you, I think the question is, what is pain compared to lives and happiness of my loved ones?"

Orihime's eyes widened, and she smiled back. "I understand," she said softly. "But you also need to ask, what is _my_ pain compared to my loved ones' pain? They're asking themselves that same question."

Nakita tipped her head to side, her eyes confused.

"You see," Orihime explained, "you ask yourself these questions when you endure pain, but your friends are asking the same questions. When they see you in pain, they say, what is my pain compared to hers? And then they suffer so you won't feel pain. Therefore, you shouldn't endure pain when you don't have to so you don't hurt your loved ones." She had learned that lesson from Kurosaki, a lesson he had learned too.

Nakita's small smile became melancholy. "I suppose that's true," she said, "but it doesn't apply to me."

"Why not?"

Nakita looked away, still smiling a little. "I don't have any loved ones to hurt for me."

"But . . . Seiko?"

"He's my partner. We work together. That's all."

Orihime felt a surge of compassion for this small, lonely woman. "Well, it applies to you, starting now," she said firmly.

Nakita raised her eyebrows. "How so?"

Orihime drew herself up. "You have us as your friends now. Kurosaki fought for you, and you for him. That makes you friends. And Kurosaki's friends are my friends. We'll hurt for you."

Nakita stared at her, disbelief stamped on her face.

"Heh," grunted a low voice. "Little Kita has a friend! How _cute!_"

"Shut the hell up, Seiko!" Nakita raised a threatening fist. "If you weren't under that barrier, I'd crush your voice box to shut you up permanently."

"That's my girl," Seiko mumbled sleepily. "Always a crab."

"I am not."

"A lobster then, to match your hair."

"Just wait until—" Nakita broke off, looking over her shoulder at the others, who were still talking quietly. "What did you just say?"

Renji shrank slightly, his unhappiness at having been overhead more than obvious. "I said that I alerted Soul Society about the presence of demons and Yokujin before we left to meet you. I was under orders to," he added defensively.

Nakita's face was hard and cold again. "And what is Soul Society planning to do about our presence?"

Renji looked away. "I'd say you're going to find out in about thirty seconds."

"_What?_"

"Captain is almost here."

"What's the matter with you, Renji?" Kurosaki demanded. "Who knows what kind of fit Soul Society is going to have over this?"

"I've already broken enough rules for you, Ichigo!" Renji retorted angrily. "If I keep disobeying my superiors, I'll get in serious trouble."

Nakita rose to her feet, letting the blanket slide from her shoulders. Her wounds looked even more terrible in the harsh light of the room. She was no longer bleeding, but dried blood streaked her skin and clothes.

"Seiko, it's time to leave."

"Now?" he mumbled groggily.

"_Now!_"

"Too late," Renji muttered.

Sounds came from the front of the store. Orihime felt a familiar presence enter the building. Nakita, tense and agitated, looked helplessly at her half-conscious companion. Seiko was just barely stirring.

"Nakita, I don't think he should move," Orihime said quietly.

"Don't worry, Kita," Kurosaki said, also standing. "I won't let him mess with you."

The emotion smoothed from Nakita's face, leaving her expression calm, serene, and remote.

"No, Ichigo," she said, her voice as empty as her face. "You may not be a normal Shinigami, but you are tied with them deeply. I won't allow you to damage your relationship with them over me."

"But Kita—"

"_No_, Ichigo. I'll handle it."

Kurosaki scowled, reluctantly stepping to the side of the room. Nakita turned to face the door as it slid open. Orihime's eyes flashed wide as the Shinigami Captain stepped into the room.

"Nii-sama!" Rukia exclaimed.

Captain Byakuya spared his adopted sister one expressionless look before turning his calm eyes on the rest of the room's occupants. He glanced down at Seiko, then looked at the female Demon Hunter. The silence seemed to press down on Orihime's ears.

Renji belatedly jumped to his feet. "Uh." He cleared his throat. "Captain, this is Matsuo Nakita, Ekisha of the . . . uh . . ."

"The 2nd Company," she said coldly.

"Right. Ekisha of the 2nd Company of the Demon Hunters. And the man on the floor there is a Keiri, Nakajima Seiko, also of the 2nd Company. Matsuo, Nakajima, this is Captain Kuchiki Byakuya of the 6th Division in the Gotei 13."

Nakita inclined her head. "Captain Kuchiki," she said politely.

Byakuya watched her, and he seemed to be waiting for something. Rukia cleared her throat. "Matsuo, please show Nii-sama the proper respect of a soldier to an unfamiliar Captain."

Orihime worried her bottom lip. As she understood it, Nakita should have at least bowed a little bit when being formally introduced to a high-ranking Captain.

"I am not a Shinigami to bow and scrape to your superiors," Nakita replied, unfazed, "and I _am_ showing the appropriate level of respect."

Renji's eyes flashed. "Maybe you're not a Shinigami, but you have commanding officers, don't you? Don't you know how to—"

"Do not insult me, Abarai Renji," Nakita snapped. "I am perfectly aware of proper military etiquette. As I already said, I have given the _appropriate_ greeting."

"You—"

Rukia cut off Renji's furious retort. "Perhaps it is different for Yokujin," she said levelly. "By Shinigami standards, Matsuo, your greeting was that of Captain to Captain."

Nakita let the silence spiral for a long moment before replying. "Our standards are the same, Kuchiki Rukia."

Renji nearly exploded. "Then what the hell are—"

"What is your rank?" Byakuya asked quietly.

Renji snapped his mouth.

Nakita lifted her chin. "Matsuo Nakita, Diviner-Captain of the 2nd Company."

Everyone stared at her.

Byakuya nodded to her. "Diviner-Captain Matsuo," he greeted her.

Kurosaki looked between the two of them. "Wait. So a Diviner-Captain is the same as a Shinigami Captain?"

"The rank is equal," Nakita responded without taking her eyes off Byakuya. "However, I do not command the entire 2nd Company; only the Ekisha in it. The entire Company is commanded by the Slayer-Captain, whose knowledge of battle is much greater."

"Do you answer to the Slayer-Captain?" Renji asked, his voice surly.

"No. We are equal in rank and function in an equal capacity of command, building on one another's strengths."

"What rank is Seiko?" Kurosaki asked curiously.

"He is 4th seat." She drew herself up. "Captain Kuchiki, now that the pleasantries are over with, I believe you are here to see me?"

"In light of recent events, the Captain-Commander of the Gotei 13 is concerned for the safety of both the human world and Soul Society. As you are the only Akki Yokujin with which we have contact, he has extended an invitation to you and your partner to meet with him in Soul Society to discuss the current situation. He hopes to reach a mutual understanding and shared alliance of knowledge and resources."

Nakita mulled over his words carefully before answering. "I am afraid I must decline. I am forbidden to enter Soul Society without the permission of my superior."

Byakuya regarded her steadily. "You considered the request quite meticulously for one who is strictly forbidden."

"As Diviner-Captain, in an emergency I can forgo permission," she said. "However, I see no emergency. Therefore, I cannot enter Soul Society without permission and I must decline."

"The Captain-Commander perceives a certain degree of urgency; otherwise, he would not extend such an invitation."

"I am afraid that it is _my_ perception that counts."

Byakuya hesitated. "Three days ago, a demon entered Soul Society and infiltrated Seireitei."

Rukia gasped, and Kurosaki and Renji tensed. Nakita's eyes widened.

"Are you certain?" she asked.

"Yes. One of our Captains was able to kill it, though he was gravely injured in the battle."

"What kind of demon was it?"

"It was of a small, light build, with dark skin and venomous fangs."

"A snake-imp? I hope your Captain was not bitten."

"He was not."

"Snake-imp?" Kurosaki cut in. "Isn't that the one you killed at my house?"

"Yes, the exact same." Nakita's eyes went distant as she thought. Orihime could easily imagine the thoughts whirling through the Diviner's quick mind. She was starting to get dizzy with the imagining when Nakita focused again.

"Captain Kuchiki, I am willing to accept your invitation for myself and my partner on two conditions." Byakuya nodded, and she continued. "One, I will accompany you only after I have received healing from Inoue Orihime and rested for a minimum of three hours. My partner will either stay behind or come at a delayed date. I would like him to have at least eight hours of rest."

"Kita," Seiko protested. "I don't need—"

"Granted," Byakuya said.

"Second," Nakita said slowly, intensely. Her eyes widened slightly, glazing over, and her pupils dilated to the extreme. "I will have your oath," she whispered, her voice detached, deadened, "by your Captain's rank and Shinigami's ethic, on behalf of your Captain-Commander, under a Diviner's Sight, that no harm will come to me or mine by the hand of a Shinigami while I am in Soul Society, and that under no circumstance will I or mine be prevented from leaving Soul Society whenever I decide to go."

Seiko grunted from his place on the floor. He'd managed to prop himself up on one elbow. "Know that you can't get away with a lie while a Diviner has her Sight on you, Shinigami Captain."

Byakuya did not respond. He stared back at Nakita. Finally, he said, "With the understanding that I cannot control the actions of the Captain-Commander but that I believe he will respect my oath, I give you my word that it shall be as you say."

"Then we have an agreement," she whispered, still staring at him eerily.

Byakuya turned to Renji. "Accompany her to Soul Society when she is ready. Rukia, bring the Slayer in twelve hours."

"Yes, Captain."

"Yes, Nii-sama."

Ignoring Orihime, Kurosaki, and Urahara, Byakuya nodded to Nakita and strode out of the room. Orihime waited until the soft sound of his footsteps were gone before looking at Nakita. She was still staring at the empty doorway, her eyes glazed, her pupils weirdly large.

"Nakita?" Orihime asked worriedly. "Are you all right?"

A tremor ran through Nakita's body. She swayed where she stood. "Stop," she whispered. Slowly, she lifted both hands and pressed them over her eyes. "Stop."

Alarmed, Orihime started to stand. Nakita swayed again, then crumpled.

"Nakita!"

Leaping forward, Orihime caught the limp woman. Gasping, she struggled to hold her up, but then Kurosaki was there, and Renji, and together they laid Nakita gently on the floor.

She had both hands clenched over her face, and her breath was coming fast and shallow. Her body trembled and twitched with random spasms, and her fingernails cut into her forehead and cheeks.

"Kita!" Kurosaki yelled, grabbing one of her arms and trying to pull her hand off her face. Renji pressed her shoulders to the floor and Ichigo forcefully pulled one of her hands back.

Nakita's visible eye was still unfocused and dilated. Orihime looked closer and saw the pupil was contracting and dilating rapidly, and her eye was shivering in its socket as though it were trying to follow the movement of a hundred different flying objects.

"What's wrong with her?" Kurosaki held her wrist in one hand and tried to get her other hand off her face. "Damn it. Kita!"

"Out of the way!" Seiko shoved Renji aside, kneeling beside the prone woman. "Kita, snap out of it now!" He lifted one huge and hit Nakita sharply across the face.

She gasped, suddenly going limp. She blinked rapidly, and her eyes returned to normal. "Oh," she breathed, apparently at a loss for words as four faces leaned over her in concern, with Rukia and Urahara crowded behind Orihime and Kurosaki.

"Are you okay? What the hell just happened?" Kurosaki demanded.

Nakita lifted one hand and stared at it, her expression bemused as she watched it tremble violently. "Um . . ." she mumbled.

"She pushed herself too hard," Seiko snapped, sitting down cross-legged. "Her Diviner's Sight is so acute she'll lose control of it if she tries to use it when she's _bloody exhausted!_" He shot the last two words at his partner, his face furious.

Nakita looked away. "Didn't have much choice," she mumbled.

"What you don't have any choice about," he snarled, "is that you are going to lie there and sleep until you're totally healed, and then you're going to sleep more, got it?"

She opened her mouth.

"_Don't argue!_"

Orihime smiled. Maybe Nakita thought that Seiko was her partner and nothing more, but _she_ rather thought Seiko acted much more like an older brother than 'just a partner'. And judging by the little smirk on Kurosaki's face as he watched the two Hunters, he thought the same thing.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE:

I am, surprisingly enough, somewhat intrigued by the new filler arc for Season 12 of the anime. I'd still prefer actual plot, but if it _must_ be filler . . . at least it's interesting, right?

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GLOSSARY:

**Sōten Kisshun** ("Twin Sacred Return Shield") - Inoue's healing technique using Shun Shun Rikka, her "Six Flowers of the Hibiscus Shield".


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: **Bleach does not belong to me, but Nakita, Seiko, and Saiu do.

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**DEVIL'S SMILE**

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**Chapter 9**

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Jūshirō squinted in the bright light of the early morning sun as he walked along wooden path beside Shunsui. His friend and fellow Captain stifled a huge yawn.

"I don't see why we have to have a Captains Meeting so early in the morning," he complained to Jūshirō. "The sun is barely up."

"Well," Jūshirō said with a smile, "it is something of a unique situation."

Shunsui blinked. "Is it?"

"I told you first thing this morning," Nanao, Shunsui's Vice-Captain, said from behind them. "Don't you remember?"

Grinning a little, he shrugged his shoulders. "I must have still been asleep."

"This meeting is unique," Jūshirō told him, "because apparently we will be joined by a Demon Hunter."

Shunsui tipped his straw hat back. "What? A Hunter, coming _here_?"

"Yes, and attending our meeting. I believe we'll be discussing the demon attack that happened here in Seireitei."

"Hmmm. Well, isn't that something." He thought about it. "But why does it have to be so _early_?"

Jūshirō chuckled. "Byakuya recommended we hold the meeting as soon as the Hunter arrives. It wouldn't be polite to keep a guest waiting."

"Oh, so Byakuya found this Hunter for us?"

"I think it would be more accurate to say that Kurosaki Ichigo found the Hunter, and Abarai Renji alerted Byakuya to that fact."

"Hmmm. Useful boy, Kurosaki, isn't he?"

"Surprisingly so," Jūshirō murmured as they approached the Captains' meeting room.

They walked through the open doors. Thanks to Shunsui's tardiness, they were the last to arrive. The other Captains were lined up in two rows, most of them with their Vice-Captains standing behind them. Jūshirō joined the end of the left-hand row with Shunsui and Nanao beside him. The Captain-Commander was sitting at the head of the two rows, eyes closed as he waited. The room was silent with tension and anticipation. It had been centuries since a Soul Society outsider had been invited to a Captains Meeting.

Jūshirō was pleased to see Tōshirō looking perfectly healthy, standing in his place further down the line. The young Captain had spent two full days under Uohana's watchful eye before returning to his duties. Rangiku stood behind her Captain, and there was faintly protective air about her as she kept one eye on him. Jūshirō was slightly surprised as he looked over Rangiku. Her Captain looked well, but Rangiku herself appeared slightly ill. There were dark shadows under her eyes, and her skin was clammy and pale. Had Tōshirō's injured state affected her so much?

A few minutes passed in silence, and then the sound of footsteps approached. One set was the soft, heavy thump of sandaled feet hitting the wood floor, while the second was a lighter, sharp snap of something harder than straw-rope waraji.

Renji stepped into the room and immediately knelt and bowed to the Captain-Commander. The figure behind him stopped but did not bow. Instead, she surveyed the room, her eyes moving from Captain to Captain before settling on the Captain-Commander.

Jūshirō examined the newcomer with faint dismay. She was a small young woman, lovely and exotic. If it were up to Jūshirō, women and children would never have to lay eyes on a battlefield, let alone participate in battle themselves. There was a clear battle-hardened aura to this girl that filled him with sorrow. She had known suffering and pain in her life.

Shunsui was also looking over the Demon Hunter, but his expression was of delighted surprise, a wicked glint in his eyes as he took in her garb—and what her garb did not cover. Jūshirō decided it was unlikely he could elbow his friend without anyone noticing.

As Renji moved to take his place in the line of Vice-Captains, Byakuya stepped forward.

"Captain-Commander," he said, "I would like to present Diviner-Captain Matsuo Nakita of the 2nd Company of the Akki Yokujin."

A Captain? Jūshirō sighed silently. So young for such responsibility. He glanced at Tōshirō, who watched the Hunter with his usual serious expression.

"Diviner-Captain Matsuo," Yamamoto said in his slow voice. "Welcome to Seireitei."

Matsuo hesitated very briefly before moving forward, as though unsure about where she should stand. She walked between the two rows of Captains, showing no fear at being surrounded by the most powerful Shinigami in Soul Society, nor even any discomfort at having so many eyes watching her.

She stopped when she stood ten paces from Yamamoto, and bowed gracefully. "Thank you, Captain-Commander Yamamoto. I am honoured by your welcome."

Yamamoto's eyebrows rose. "I did not hear Captain Kuchiki introduce me by name. Are you so familiar with the Gotei 13?"

"No, Captain-Commander," Matsuo replied. "However, as a Diviner I can see your name as clearly as I can see your face, Yamamoto-Genryusai Shigekuni."

Jūshirō frowned as he realized just how sorely ignorant they were of the nature and abilities of the Akki Yokujin.

"An interesting ability, Diviner-Captain," Yamamoto said. "You seem quite talented for your apparent youth."

"An interesting observation, Captain-Commander," she said with a slightly impertinent bite in her voice as she cast a pointed look at Tōshirō.

"Ah," Yamamoto said. "Captain Hitsugaya is exceptional in many ways."

"Therefore you are surely not surprised that there are exceptional individuals outside your own ranks," Matsuo retorted.

"You seem to have an exceptionally bold tongue if nothing else, Diviner-Captain Matsuo," Yamamoto admonished sternly.

"So I've been told," she replied unblushingly.

Jūshirō and Shunsui exchanged startled looks. She was brave to antagonize the Captain-Commander, especially while surrounded by his Captains.

"How long have you been a Diviner-Captain?" asked Yamamoto.

Matsuo hesitated before answering. "Just under six months, Captain-Commander."

"Hmph. And what were the circumstances of your promotion?"

"My apologies, but I do not think that matter is relevant, Captain-Commander."

Jūshirō's eyes went wide. It was one thing to act a little sassy with Yamamoto; it was another to refuse to answer a question that was put to you by the Captain-Commander.

"Diviner-Captain Matsuo," Yamamoto said, his voice sharp with power and authority, "I do not tolerate insubordination in any form from my own Captains or from the Captains not under my direct authority. You _will_ answer any question put to you by a higher-ranking officer."

Matsuo did not flinch, but her face hardened further. "I will not. You have asked a question that is both inappropriate and disrespectful. I will not violate the privacy of the former 2nd Company Diviner-Captain just to satiate your curiosity."

There was a long, heavy silence.

"I see," Yamamoto said. "I had not anticipated that the matter of your promotion would be such a sensitive subject." He thought for a moment. "Let us move on then. Did Captain Kuchiki explain the demon attack on Seireitei?"

"He mentioned it, Captain-Commander."

"Were you aware that the attack had taken place before he told you?"

"No."

"Do you know how a demon might have entered Soul Society?"

She shrugged lightly. "Demons can force their way into any plane of existence," she said. "Usually, they are bright enough not to attack Soul Society, seeing as the Shinigami are present in great numbers to oppose them."

Yamamoto's eyes narrowed. "What about demons that choose unwisely?"

"We deal with them as quickly as possible, usually before they come to the attention of the Gotei 13."

"Yokujin have been entering Soul Society?" Yamamoto demanded.

Matsuo looked surprised. "Yes. Very rarely, but we follow wherever demons go."

Jūshirō shifted his shoulders. This was embarrassing, that the Shinigami had no clue they were infrequently visited by Demon Hunters.

"Have the Yokujin been entering Seireitei as well?"

"No," Matsuo said.

"How did the demon enter Seireitei?"

"I am not sure. Some demons have magic powerful enough to cut a door in the protective barrier around Seireitei, but the demon Captain Kuchiki described is not one of them."

When she said nothing more, Yamamoto narrowed his eyes. "Did Captain Kuchiki not explain the purpose of this meeting, Diviner-Captain Matsuo? If you are not willing to share information, then we are all wasting our time."

"Captain Kuchiki did explain the purpose of this meeting," Matsuo said evenly. "However, I have heard nothing of what the Shinigami are offering me in return for information. You have demanded I share my knowledge, yet you have already made it clear that I am not in a position to make any demands of my own."

"Surely you can see the benefit in arming the Shinigami with information. We would prefer to keep Soul Society free of demons without the aid—known or unknown—of the Yokujin."

"I see no benefit," Matsuo replied sharply. "I could tell you everything I know and it would not help the Shinigami in such a task."

"I think you underestimate us," Yamamoto said, his voice hard with the beginnings of anger.

"I think you underestimate what we do," Matsuo snapped, fury lighting in her eyes. "You are arrogant, Captain-Commander of the Shinigami. You think that the Shinigami are the nobility of all the worlds, and that you alone are superior and capable. You have not shown respect for my abilities or position. You have not even granted me the courtesy ones gives a guest. I owe you nothing, I do not recognize your authority, and I will not allow you to intimidate me into subservience."

Jūshirō stared at her, too shocked at her brazenness to feel insulted on Yamamoto's behalf. To speak to the Captain-Commander so!

"You are as arrogant as you claim we are," Captain Soifon accused unexpectedly. "What makes you think that the Yokujin alone can fight demons effectively? Did we not already kill the demon that infiltrated our city? You are nothing but an egotistical hypocrite."

Matsuo slowly pivoted to face Soifon. "A hypocrite, am I?" she whispered. She turned around and strode halfway down the line of Captain's to stop in front of Tōshirō. "You," she barked unexpectedly, pointing at Rangiku. "Come here."

Rangiku stared at her in shock.

"Now!"

With a questioning look at Tōshirō, Rangiku stepped out of line to stand beside the shorter woman.

Matsuo looked up at Rangiku. "You feel sick, fatigued, and depressed," she said. It was not a question. "I will show you why."

Rangiku gaped at the Yokujin, and did not protest when Nakita had pulled the shoulder of her kosode down. Matsuo pulled a small dagger from under the sleeve-like cover on her left arm.

"Hold still," she said, lifting the tiny blade.

"What are you doing?" Tōshirō demanded, stepping forward.

Holding Rangiku's bare shoulder in one hand, Matsuo stabbed the dagger into the soft spot just to the side of Rangiku's collarbone. Digging the knife in calmly, Matsuo ignored the flow of blood as she cut deeper. Rangiku bit her lip, her eyes wide.

Tōshirō, fury lighting his face, reached for his Zanpakutou.

"Don't do that," Matsuo said without looking away from her task. "I'm saving your Vice-Captain's life."

Tōshirō froze, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

Pulling out the knife, Matsuo held the hilt between her teeth to free her hand. Still gripping Rangiku's shoulder tightly, she dug her forefinger and thumb into the wound. Rangiku gasped as blood gushed to run down her chest. Matsuo made a small, satisfied noise and withdrew her fingers, holding up her hand to show Tōshirō.

A large insect, about half the length of Jūshirō's thumb, squirmed in Matsuo's grip. It looked like a cross between a beetle and a spider, with a hard, elongated body and too many quivering legs.

Matsuo took the dagger from her mouth. "A hell-beetle. It's a parasite that feeds on reiryoku, draining its host's strength and slowly killing them over the course of several weeks. Demons are their carriers, and the beetles will latch onto anyone who comes too near."

The Yokujin pierced the bug's body with her dagger. It shuddered, legs flailing, and went still. "Hell-beetles do not have reiatsu or reiryoku. They steal it from their hosts, so they feel exactly the same to one's senses as their victim."

"How did you know it was there?" Soifon demanded. "If you can find it, then we can learn."

"You can't," Matsu said. Turning her back on Soifon, she pulled a dark handkerchief from her other arm guard, shook out the folds, and held it out to Rangiku, who was staring at the speared bug with revulsion.

"You should start to feel better almost immediately," Matsuo told Rangiku, who accepted the hanky and pressed it to the cut in her shoulder. "The wound needs to be cleansed and healed. I can do it, or if you prefer . . ." She glanced at Uohana.

Jūshirō wondered if Matsuo was a very convincing liar and _did_ know all about Soul Society, or if her strange abilities truly allowed her to perceive that Uohana was the healer among all the Captains.

"I already feel better," Rangiku said quickly, offering a wavering smile. "Thank you."

"You've proved nothing," Soifon said, drawing Matsuo's attention again. "If you explained how you found the hell-beetle, we could—"

"You could not!" Matsuo said, her voice rising for the first time. "You do not have the ability! Shinigami are more than likely capable of slaying demons with the same success rate as Slayers, but slaying is only half of it. We are called Demon _Hunters_, because without the hunt there would be no battle. Demons are masters of their magic; they can hide their reiatsu, their aura, even their scent; if cannot find a demon, you cannot fight it. Diviners do not battle demons. We hunt them."

She unclenched her hands and closed her eyes wearily. "There is a saying among the Yokujin. 'Summoning an Akkihasaiki is easier than achieving a Shinigami's Bankai, but achieving Bankai is far easier than awakening a Diviner's Sight.'"

"So you're saying," Tōshirō said quietly, "that we can't protect Soul Society from demons unless we can hunt them, and we can't hunt them without a Diviner?"

"Exactly," she said, looking at him. "Even if there were Shinigami capable of Diviner's Sight, it takes most Ekisha at least half a century of training before they can hunt demons successfully."

"If you're going to hunt demons across continents," Soifon said, "then a Diviner would be necessary, but we want to protect one city. Captain Hitsugaya found the demon here—"

"A lucky coincidence," Matsuo interrupted dismissively.

"You," snapped Soifon, "are determined to seem special so you can laud your so-called superiority—"

"Fool!" Matsuo shrieked so loudly that Jūshirō jumped. "Do you think I'm enjoying myself right now? You people are impossible!" She stalked over to stand nose-to-nose with the taller Captain. "Are you so certain you can handle demons, Soifon of the Shinigami? Then go!" Matsuo pointed one finger towards the door. "I counted six demons in the streets of Seireitei on my through the city. Go and hunt them down, Soifon, since you're so certain that you can."

Soifon stared at her.

"Six demons," Jūshirō said, breaking the electric silence, "in the city? Right now?"

Matsuo stepped away from Soifon, her reddish-purple eyes still fiery with frustration and anger. "Yes. Do you understand now when I say the Shinigami are not prepared to handle demons?"

"Diviner-Captain Matsuo," Yamamoto said sharply, "why did you not mention this sooner?"

She turned to face him, crossing her arms across her chest and thrusting out her lower jaw. "It didn't seem urgent. The demons are hiding, not attacking."

"Hiding while they spread their demonic aura through the squads," Komamura growled.

"They've blocked their auras. They aren't presenting an immediate danger."

"I will not have demons in Seireitei," Yamamoto said. "Matsuo, you will lead a team of Captains to these hidden demons so they may be slain immediately."

Matsuo went very still. "Did you," she asked in a deadly quiet voice, "just give me an order?"

Yamamoto stared her down. "I did."

"How dare you," she hissed. She lifted her free hand out from her side—the other hand still holding her dagger—and black light sparked beneath her palm. "You overinflated, presumptuous, disrespectful—"

The doors to the room slammed open. Everyone turned.

"Kita!" roared a voice. A huge blond man in a uniform similar to Matsuo's strode into the room. "What the hell are you doing?"

Kurosaki Ichigo and Kuchiki Rukia followed him in, both looking extremely bemused.

"Seiko." Matsuo blinked in shock, the black light vanishing from her hand. "What—"

"You better not have been about to draw your weapon on the Captain-Commander of the Shinigami!" he yelled, bearing down on her.

"But he—"

"By the twenty lords of hell!" he swore. "What's the matter with you? Can't you keep your temper under control even once?"

"But he—"

"I don't care if he spit in your face, Kita! You don't behave like that! You're embarrassing all of us!"

"But—"

"My deepest apologies, Captain-Commander," the new arrival said, speaking right over Matsuo. "You might have noticed Captain Matsuo has all the diplomacy of a hibernating bear, and about as much charisma as a porcupine. I swear all our Captains aren't as bad as her."

Ichigo came to stand on Matsuo's other side, smirking at the small woman. "Wow, Kita, were you really going to draw your weapon on the Old Man? Even _I_ haven't done that yet."

Matsuo glared at both of them, beset from either side. "He was trying to order me around!"

"What did he tell you to do?" Ichigo asked curiously.

"Take some Captains to kill the demons in the city."

"That sounds like a good idea to me," Seiko said. "Are you having a fit just 'cause he didn't ask you nicely?"

Matsuo bared her teeth at him, all dignity apparently forgotten. "If you don't shut up, I'm going to draw my weapon on _you_!"

Rukia came up on Ichigo's other side and cleared her throat. "Captain-Commander Yamamoto, may I introduce Nakajima Seiko, 4th seat of the 2nd Company of the Akki Yokujin, and Diviner-Captain Matsuo's partner?"

Seiko bowed to Yamamoto. "It's an honour, sir. Sorry I wasn't here to keep Captain Matsuo's acid tongue under control."

"Seiko—"

"Shut up, Kita. You've already done enough damage."

"_Damage?_"

"With your permission, Captain-Commander, Captain Matsuo and me'll hunt down the demons here right away. Your Captains are welcome to come along if they want, to get some firsthand experience fighting demons."

Soifon, Tōshirō, and Kenpachi quickly volunteered to come. Jūshirō looked at Shunsui, who nodded.

"We'll come along to watch," he told the room at large.

"Very well," Yamamoto said. "Soifon, I will have a full report from you when you're finished. Captain Matsuo, Nakajima, I will speak with you both again at a later time. Dismissed."

Nakajima casually saluted Yamamoto before striding out of the room. Matsuo stalked after him, seething, with Ichigo and Rukia following behind.

Shunsui chuckled softly and turned to Jūshirō.

"That was interesting, don't you think?"

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AUTHOR'S NOTE:

I'm always on the lookout for new anime, and I just recently got into "07 Ghost". Aside from the complete lack of female characters, I've really been enjoying it—though I had to fetch a box of tissues for one part . . . I'm such an emotional wimp when it comes to tear-jerker scenes.

If you have an extra minute, please review!

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GLOSSARY:

**Kosode **-The black outer garment for the torso worn as part of the Shinigami uniform, often referred to as kimono.

**Reiryoku **("Spiritual Power") - The spiritual energy a being has stored within their body. (Reiatsu is reiryoku that has been released from the inside the person's body.)


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: **Bleach does not belong to me, but Nakita, Seiko, and Saiu do.

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**DEVIL'S SMILE**

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**Chapter 10**

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Rangiku thanked Uohana and hurried from the meeting room. Her shoulder was healed, and she felt a thousand times lighter than she had walking into the room. She couldn't be more grateful to Matsuo Nakita for taking that disgusting bug out of her. The last few days . . . She'd been sunk in a despair she could barely grasp now that it had lifted.

As she rushed down the hall, eager to catch up with Hitsugaya and the others to hunt the demons in the city, she heard the murmur of voices. Rounding a corner, she found the whole group—Hitsugaya, Ichigo, Rukia, Renji, Captain Zaraki, Captain Soifon, Captain Kyōraku, and Captain Ukitake—standing at a cross-section of the hallway, watching Matsuo and Nakajima Seiko, who stood at the other end of the hall. With one glance, Rangiku knew that Matsuo was taking a private moment to give Nakajima hell.

"Matsumoto," Hitsugaya said, spotting her. "How's your wound?"

"One hundred percent!" she said cheerfully. She jerked a thumb at the two Yokujin. "What's up with them?"

"Ahh," Kyōraku said with a laughing smile. "Since we were waiting for you anyway, Captain Matsuo took the opportunity to reprimand her subordinate for his behaviour."

"For embarrassing her, more like," Ichigo said.

"A formidable young lady," Ukitake said. He looked at Ichigo. "Is she normally so . . .?"

"Aggressive?" suggested Nakajima, who was walking toward them. "Prickly? Temperamental? A royal pain in the ass? Yeah, she's always like that."

Ichigo snorted a laugh. "What's she doing?" he asked. Matsuo was still standing at the end of the hall, her back to them as she looked out the window.

"Getting her temper under control," Nakajima said, shaking his head. "I don't know what her problem is. Normally she's not quite so . . . unreasonable."

"Maybe it's her reaction to nerves," Rukia suggested. "Facing all the Captains of the Shinigami all by oneself is very intimidating."

"She didn't look nervous," Rangiku said.

Nakajima shrugged. "That kind of stuff doesn't bother Kita. She's damned fearless even for a Demon Hunter. Something else is digging at her." He shrugged again. "She'll tell me when she's ready."

Turning away from the window, Matsuo strode towards them. Her face was set and hard, but her eyes were no longer furious. "Let's go," she said shortly, leading the way through the halls.

Rangiku fell into step beside Hitsugaya, noting the way Nakajima and Ichigo flanked Matsuo. "What do you think of her?" she asked her Captain quietly.

"She's unpredictable," he answered just as softly. "I don't like it."

"Because unpredictable means un-trust-able, right?"

"I don't think _un-trust-able_ is a word."

She ignored that. "Ichigo seems to trust her."

Hitsugaya didn't answer, but his eyes were troubled.

The hunting expedition went smoothly for the most part. Matsuo led them unerringly to each demon, and the Captains took turns fighting them with Nakajima as emergency back-up. They were all snake-imps like the one Hitsugaya had killed.

Armed with the knowledge of how to resist the demonic auras, Rangiku was relieved to be able to keep a handle on her emotions this time around. The hardest part was the demons' voices—so high and cutting that everyone but Matsuo and Nakajima was bleeding from the ears by the time they were done. Matsuo said there were Kidō spells to silence a demon's voice, but it was better if they developed a level of resistance first.

Out of the Captains, Hitsugaya did the best against his demon. He killed it quickly, and without needing to use Bankai this time. Soifon did second best, taking just one nasty swipe from the demon's claws when it screamed a curse at her that made everyone but the Hunters black-out for a moment. Zaraki took a little while to kill his because it was faster than him, but it couldn't even cut him, despite its many attempts. In the end, Zaraki unleashed some of his reiatsu, so powerful it paralyzed the demon long enough for him to kill it. Matsuo warned him that wouldn't work on a more powerful demon, but he just laughed and said he had way more reiatsu than that to throw around.

Renji and Ichigo killed theirs quickly, and that left just one more. Rangiku was going to give it a shot, but Hitsugaya and Matsuo overrode her, insisting she wait until she'd recovered her strength from the hell-beetle. Seiko killed it. He was the clear champion, killing the snake-imp in about three seconds with his enormous broadsword, which formed out of thin air and reddish light.

"Well," he said, letting his weapon dissolve into nothing, "that was interesting. You Captains aren't half bad, really."

"How kind of you to say so," Ukitake said with a smile.

Matsuo watched the demon's corpse slowly dissolve into a reeking, lumpy puddle. She made a growling noise of frustration deep in her throat. "What are they _doing_ here?" she muttered.

Seiko rolled his shoulders. "Snake-imps aren't known for their brains, Kita. Don't over-think it."

She shot him a cutting look. "That's obviously not your problem. Try thinking about it a _little_, would you?" She glared at the demon puddle. "What does it mean when an enemy sends undercover soldiers—known for their speed and their ability to remain undetected, not for their fighting skills—into the heart of your stronghold and the seat of power and command?"

Every Captain snapped straight with tension.

"Shit." Nakajima clenched his big hands into fists. "Why didn't I see it?"

"See what?" Rukia asked.

"Spies," Hitsugaya said. "The demons are here as spies."

"And why would an enemy send spies to investigate your city?" Matsuo prompted.

"They're planning an attack or invasion of some kind," he replied darkly.

There was a long moment of silence.

"Captain Matsuo," Soifon said, "could these demons have already passed on information?"

"Oh yes," Matsuo replied. "Hell-butterflies were demon messengers before Shinigami even existed."

"Great," Rangiku muttered.

"Are there any more demons in Seireitei?" Soifon asked.

"No." Matsuo squinted northward. "I think there may be some outside the city. They're hiding as well, so there's no urgency. Once I've located them, I'll let you know."

"Do you need an escort outside the city to find them?" Ukitake asked.

She suddenly yawned, clapping a hand to her mouth. "Excuse me. No, I just need a little time to sort through everything to locate them. No need to run all over Soul Society looking."

"She means she's going to use her Diviner's Sight," Nakajima elaborated. "_But_ she's not going to do any searching now. You need to rest," he added fiercely, leaning over the tiny woman. "Last thing we need is you collapsing halfway through a hunt."

"I already rested," she snapped. "I'm not tired."

"But you need to give your Sight a break, Kita. I know you had it going through that whole meeting. Don't drive yourself into the ground _again_. I'm sick of taking care of you when you crash."

"What!" she shrieked, hands balling up. "You take care of _me_? _You're_ the one who's always getting stabbed and slashed and blasted and poisoned and clawed—"

He snorted. "I'm the one fighting, ain't I? Quit whining like a spoiled brat."

"That's enough, Nakajima Seiko," she growled, and an aura of authority seemed to condense around her. "You're way out of line, Keiri. We're not lounging around back home; we're on a mission. Behave yourself accordingly."

He rolled his eyes. "You're the one who was having a fit in front of—"

With a flash of black light, Matsuo drew a weapon out of nothing. The long black shape flashed towards Nakajima.

He yelped, summoning his huge sword just in time. Matsuo's blade hit his—and an explosion of red light burst outwards on contact. Nakajima was blasted backwards, slamming hard into the wall ten feet behind him. Matsuo spun the haft of her weapon in one hand, twirling it in a dark blur as she stared coldly at her downed partner.

"Shit, Kita," he gasped as he dragged himself up. His weapon was smoking from whatever she'd hit him with.

"I gave you an order, Slayer," Matsuo said flatly, turning her weapon easily with one hand to rest the haft against her shoulder, and Rangiku saw that it was a long, doubled-ended ebony halberd. "I am your commanding Captain while we're here, not your partner. If you do not correct your behaviour as ordered, I have no choice but to take disciplinary action."

He grunted and looked away from her stare. "My apologies, Captain."

Matsuo nodded. Her weapon dissolved in a swirl of black light. Rangiku watched it vanish, feeling gooseflesh erupt on the back of her neck. Matsuo handled that weapon with an easy grace that spoke of great skill. Rangiku rather thought she'd prefer to fight Nakajima over Matsuo when it came down to it.

As the silence between the two Hunters stretched uncomfortably, Soifon looked to her fellow Captains. "I'm going to report now." When they nodded, she flash-stepped out of sight.

"See you," Kenpachi said without preamble, striding down the street toward his division's barracks.

Matsuo watched him go, expressionless. Then she looked at Ukitake, Kyōraku, and Hitsugaya. Rangiku realized that no one had addressed the issue of where Matsuo and Nakajima would be staying while they were in Seireitei. An idea came to Rangiku. Dismissing the vague worry that she might get in trouble later, she beamed at Matsuo.

"But of course, you two need somewhere comfortable to rest and recuperate—and you too, Ichigo," she said airily, flapping her hand above Ichigo's shoulder without actually patting him. "Why don't the three of you stay with us at the 10th Division!"

"Matsumoto," Hitsugaya growled in an undertone, glaring warningly. She ignored him.

"It'll be fun!" she gushed with her best airhead grin. "Captain Matsuo needs a lady's company, of course. What self-respecting girl wants to spend all her time with _men_?"

Matsuo didn't smile, but her hard stare softened noticeably.

"And Ichigo can show Nakajima around, since he's been to our compound before," she continued. She beamed at Hitsugaya. "Don't worry, Captain, I know you have _way_ too much work to have time to give out tours."

"Work that _you_ should have already done," he muttered.

Rangiku clapped her hands together. "Then it's all settled."

Kyōraku sighed dramatically. "What a shame. I was going to invite the lovely Diviner-Captain to visit my Division."

Ukitake smiled. "Then it's a good thing that Matsumoto was so quick with her generous invitation."

"What a terribly cruel thing to say."

"You and pretty women just don't mix well."

"Actually, we mix very well."

"That's the problem."

With casual waves, the two Captains walked off, still bantering light-heartedly.

Matsuo crossed her arms. "They're awfully blasé considering that their city is being scouted for a demon attack."

"There's not much we can do right now, is there?" Hitsugaya said. "All we can do at the moment is wait for orders from the Captain-Commander." He turned. "Let's go. Matsumoto."

At his gesture, she trotted forward to walk beside him. Ichigo waved goodbye to Rukia and Renji and joined Matsuo and Nakajima to follow along behind Rangiku and Hitsugaya.

"What do you think you're doing?" her Captain demanded in an irate whisper.

She widened her eyes innocently. "I thought you wanted to know if we could trust Captain Matsuo?"

"How does inviting her into our Division help with that?"

She winked. "Just leave it to me, Captain."

He sighed. "I'd better not regret this," he grumbled.

"Don't worry, you won't."

* * *

****

. o : O : o .

* * *

Rangiku sighed with delight as she sank into the cool water up to her shoulders. The soothing caress of water washed away the clinging sweat from the warm afternoon, and cleansed the last of the feverish feeling from her body, left over from the hell-beetle-spawned illness.

"Isn't this nice?" she asked Matsuo, flashing the smaller woman a smile.

Matsuo sat down gingerly, looking around with a slightly doubtful expression. "Are you sure we can bathe in this pool? It looks more like a decoration to me."

The rocky pool was tucked into a back corner of the 10th Division compound, out of sight of the main yard and any buildings with windows. Beyond the pale boulders that formed the pool, the small area was overgrown with weeds and wild flowers. It was actually very pretty in a natural, slightly untidy way.

"It's fine," Rangiku assured her. "I come here all the time in hot weather. I don't think anyone else knows it's here."

"Not even your Captain?"

"Well . . . _he_ might know. But I'm not worried."

Her eyebrows rose as she leaned back against a large rock. "Doesn't he reprimand you if you do something wrong?"

"Of course he does," Rangiku said carelessly, pushing her hair off her shoulders. "But he tells me off about ten times a day anyway."

"He doesn't discipline you?"

"Nah," she said. "He'll yell at me, that's all." She grinned at the thought.

Matsuo looked bewildered. "You have a very strange relationship for a Captain and Vice-Captain."

Rangiku's expression became more sombre. "The little things don't matter, that's all. He doesn't need me to prove my loyalty with obsessive efforts to please him. If he asked, I'd follow him to Hell and back."

Matsuo looked at her in a way that made Rangiku slightly nervous. Finally, she smiled faintly. "I'm a little envious, Matsumoto. I've never known that kind of devotion myself."

"Aren't you devoted to your—uh, what's your commanding officer called?"

"He's technically the Captain-Commander like here, but we all call him the Warlord."

"Huh. So aren't you devoted to this Warlord?"

"No," she said thoughtfully, gazing at the puffy clouds drifting across the afternoon sky. "I'm not devoted to him as a person; I'm devoted to my position and the devotion that demands I have towards the Warlord. _Your_ commitment is so passionate because it's directed at a real person, not an abstract office."

Rangiku gazed at the other woman, feeling a hint of sympathy tinge her perception of the Hunter Captain. "Is there nobody in your life that you would die for?"

Matsuo stared at the clouds. "I would die for Seiko. He's my partner." She looked at Rangiku. "But it's not the same sort of sacrifice for me as for you." Her lips turned up in the small, sad smile again. "I'm not afraid of death."

"Everyone is afraid to die," Rangiku disagreed.

"Fear is one of the strongest, most incapacitating emotions that we as human beings can experience, and it's the emotion that demons use to their greatest advantage. Yokujin are able to hunt demons without being overwhelmed by their auras because we are all, to some degree, fearless."

Rangiku recalled how Matsuo had stood alone in the midst of the Captains and Vice-Captains in the heart of Seireitei and insulted the Captain-Commander to his face. Maybe she was fearless after all.

"Where do the Hunters find you people?" she asked lightly. "Recruiting must be one heck of a job for someone!" She grinned at Matsuo. "Where are you from, anyway? Somewhere in Rukongai, right?"

Matsuo stared at Rangiku. "You—you don't know?"

"Know what?"

Matsuo looked away, staring at the clouds. "I'm not from Soul Society at all, Matsumoto."

"But . . . but then . . . where—you're not human, are you?" No, she thought to herself. That couldn't be it. But where else could you find souls that could be trained as warriors? Aside from Soul Society, there was only . . .

Rangiku inhaled sharply, her eyes widening. "You're . . ."

"I'm one of the damned. A soul banished to Hell. We all are."

Rangiku caught herself leaning away from the other woman in horror. She straightened, smoothing her expression. "You don't seem very evil to me," she said hesitantly.

She smiled bitterly. "Don't I? Make no mistake, Matsumoto. I earned my trip to Hell." Red-wine eyes turned to Rangiku, pinning her like shards of ice. "That's why they say, 'Never turn your back on a Hunter.' We all start out as damned souls, and to the rest of the world, we still are."

Rangiku frowned slightly. "But you don't agree?"

Matsuo shrugged, trailing her fingers through the water and watching the flow of ripples. "Does committing an act of evil mean that you're evil inside? Some—most—of the Yokujin don't change, but for some . . . a certain degree of redemption is possible."

"Have you changed?"

Matsuo looked up again, searing Rangiku with her gaze. "No. I haven't."

"But . . ."

"I was thinking of Seiko," Matsuo elaborated, returning to her observation of the ripples on the water. "He's changed even since I met him. He's . . . softened." She looked up at the sky, and suddenly her expression was radiant with a shining kind of hope. "If a damned soul changes enough . . . if he sheds his evil and learns remorse . . . sometimes that soul can ascend to Soul Society."

Rangiku stared, her breath stolen by the look on Matsuo's face. Her features were suddenly much softer and gentler, the harsh sharpness gone, the coldness melted away.

"The sun here . . . it's so bright and warm," Matsuo murmured. "If I can keep him alive, maybe Seiko could . . ."

Rangiku looked away, hands clenching into fists under the water. She knew very well that the world—any world, whether the living one, Hell, or Soul Society—could be a cruel place, and that a cruel environment could create cruel people. Yet Matsuo didn't seem to fit any definition of evil that Rangiku had ever heard. Maybe she was a bit cold and a little overly ruthless and had a bad temper, but that description could apply to any number of Shinigami—even the Captains. What had Matsuo done that the rest of them hadn't that had earned her a one-way ticket to Hell?

Her eyes turned back to the Diviner, and she studied the stark black tattoo on the side of the woman's cheek, severe against her smooth, creamy complexion. Why had she marred the beauty of her face with such a dark, aggressive design? What was she hiding? What did she want?

Rangiku had planned to lower Matsuo's formidable mental and emotional defences with some girl-talk and female bonding, but she was doing a miserable job of it. There was nothing light or relaxing about their conversation so far. She had to find some kind of common ground so she could connect with Matsuo, but what could they possibly share with lives so different?

Well, sometimes the best way to get an answer was to just ask the question.

"Matsuo." Rangiku took a deep breath and turned a very serious stare on the other woman. "Can we trust you?"

Matsuo raised her eyebrows. "Who's 'we'? And trust me in what way?"

"Can we Shinigami trust you with the safety of Soul Society?"

She sighed. "Can you? Or _should_ you?" She stared back at Rangiku. "I don't think you should."

Rangiku leaned back. "What do you mean?"

"If your Captain ordered you to kill me, would you?" she asked. "If the Warlord ordered me to betray Soul Society, would I? For people like us, Rangiku, trust is not such a simple thing as 'yes' or 'no'." She rolled her shoulders, sending ripples through the water. "Can you trust me as an individual? I think you can. Can you trust me as a Yokujin? No, you can't. To trust me as a Yokujin, you would have to trust the Warlord."

Rangiku echoed Matsuo's sigh. "I guess you're right. We don't know anything about this Warlord of yours, so trusting him is impossible."

Matsuo smiled bleakly. "I do know him, and honestly—I don't trust him either." She leaned towards Rangiku. "You're a kind person, Rangiku; I can see that. But don't be a fool. That saying about not turning your back on a Yokujin exists for good reason. Don't trust any of us."

Rangiku nodded slowly. "Not even you?"

"Not even me," Matsuo agreed. "Not me, not Seiko, not the Warlord. We have one job and one job only: keeping demons in Hell. That's the only thing you can trust us to do. And even then . . ." Her eyes went distant, far-seeing. "I can't . . . I don't see . . ." She exhaled heavily, wiping a wet hand over her face. "The events of the last week or so . . . more than that . . . they're connected _somehow_, but I can't find the common thread. I can't link them. I don't understand."

"Wait," Rangiku said sharply, "you mean there's more to this than just demons in Seireitei?"

Matsuo didn't answer. She was squinting towards the practice hall that bordered the pool, her lips turning down in a frown. "I think—" she began.

At that moment, an all too familiar voice called out from beyond the wooden building. "Matsumoto?"

"Uh-oh," Rangiku said, sinking a little lower in the water. "Time to get yelled at."

"Matsumoto, where are—"

Hitsugaya walked around the corner of the building, looking from side-to-side. His blue-green eyes landed on Rangiku, shoulder-deep in the pond, then darted to Matsuo, who was standing in the middle of the pool, one arm stretched towards the towels sitting atop a nearby rock. He stopped dead.

Rangiku covered her mouth with one hand as she choked back laughter. Matsuo had frozen too, a delicate blush tingeing her cheeks. The water rose to her waist, leaving her bare from there up. Lucky for her, her long, loose red hair fell in front of her shoulders, covering her most salient features, but other than that—She really should have been quicker about grabbing that towel, or just stayed in the water like Rangiku.

There was a very long, awkward moment of silence where not one of three of them even blinked.

With a small choking sound, Hitsugaya jerkily turned his back on them, folding his arms and radiating hot fury.

"Matsumoto, I'm going to kill you," he growled without looking around. "Get the hell out of there."

"I'm going to kill you too," Matsuo hissed, her blush deepening. "You said it was okay to bathe here!"

Rangiku blinked as she realized that Matsuo wasn't embarrassed about being caught naked in broad daylight; she was embarrassed at being caught doing something inappropriate by a Shinigami Captain.

Unable to stand it any longer, Rangiku burst into peals of laughter. Clutching her stomach, she nearly doubled over.

"You—should—see—the expression—on your—face!" she gasped out, tears leaking from her eyes as she pointed at Matsuo.

Snatching a towel off the rock, Matsuo quickly wrapped it around her middle and stalked out of the pool, splashing a great deal of water in Rangiku's face in the process.

"S-sorry," she laughed, grabbing her towel as well. "I really didn't think anyone would come looking for us!"

Matsuo glared at her.

Hitsugaya peeked over his shoulder, saw that they were both in towels, and relaxed his rigid stance slightly. He still kept his back to them. "The Captain-Commander wishes to continue his meeting with Diviner-Captain Matsuo and Nakajima as soon as they're ready," he said stiffly.

Lifting a lock of her dripping hair, Matsuo looked down at it, slightly horrified. "I knew this was a stupid idea," she snarled.

"Oh come on," Rangiku said, flapping one hand. "Didn't you enjoy cooling off in the water?"

"That's a pond, not a bath," Hitsugaya ground out.

"Same difference," Rangiku said cheerfully. She said to Matsuo, "Just be glad it was Captain Hitsugaya who found us. He's too much of a gentleman to tease you about—"

"I can sense them over here," a loud male voice said from the same direction from which Hitsugaya had come.

"What's over there?" asked another voice.

"Not sure, it must be—"

From around the corner, Renji appeared, followed by Vice-Captain Kira and Vice-Captain Iba, as well as Ikkaku and Yumichika from the 11th Division. Renji jerked to a stop, and Kira walked into his back. Ikkaku, Yumichika, and Iba stumbled as they quickly stopped as well.

Rangiku rolled her eyes as the five men gaped at the two wet, towel-clad women and the properly clothed but obviously furious Captain standing beside them.

"Uh—uh—" Renji fought for words as his cheeks brightened to tomato-red. "I was just—they wanted to meet the—I mean—we can come back—uh—maybe another time?"

Kira cleared his throat. "Our apologies, Captain Hitsugaya."

Ikkaku grinned. "Yeah, we'll leave you three to—whatever you were doing. We'd hate to interrupt."

"Don't include me with _them_," Hitsugaya snapped. "I'm just delivering a message."

"Right, of course," Ikkaku snickered.

"Now, now, Ikkaku," Yumichika said mildly, "I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation."

"Yeah," Ikkaku said, "I can _see_ that."

"I beg your pardon?" Matsuo said quietly.

"Eh?"

"Be careful what you imply, Shinigami. It would be unwise to insult a Captain."

"Two Captains," Rangiku corrected.

"Since when are _you_ a Captain, Matsumoto?" Ikkaku asked dryly.

"_She's_ a Captain."

"She—oh."

"I suppose it would be inappropriate for me to chastise a Shinigami," Matsuo said thoughtfully, a steely glint in her eyes as she regarded Ikkaku. "Seeing as how he's not under my command."

"I have no objections," Hitsugaya said.

"Hm. Perhaps together then?"

He nodded. Before Ikkaku could so much as cringe, the two Captains were standing in front of him. Both drew back their fists, and—SLAM. Ikkaku took Hitsugaya's fist to the face and Matsuo's to the stomach. Moving in perfect unison, both Captains straightened, stepped around Ikkaku's twitching body, and walked away.

Yumichika looked down at Ikkaku's prone form, running his fingers through his hair. "My, my. You would think he'd know better."

"Actually," Rangiku said, "I'm really not surprised that he doesn't."

* * *

**. x : X : x .**

* * *

****

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Wow, I didn't realize how long this chapter was until I uploaded it. Hope you enjoyed the extra length! Please review if you have a minute. I didn't have time to reply to reviews last time, but I'll try to reply this week.

(For those who watched the latest Bleach episode... It was a little stupid, in my opinion. Why would that particular "phenomenon" occur to Ichigo _again_? Hadn't he already defeated it permanently during training? It seems the writers are struggling for material already. I'm disappointed, but I guess I shouldn't have any real expectations when it comes to filler.)


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: **Bleach does not belong to me, but Nakita, Seiko, and Saiu do.

* * *

**DEVIL'S SMILE**

* * *

**Chapter 11**

* * *

Ichigo strode after Seiko, almost jogging in his efforts to keep up with the large man's long gait. Startled Shinigami backed against the walls to get out of the Demon Hunter's path. Ichigo scowled at Seiko's back.

"What's the rush?" he demanded. "There's no set time for this meeting."

"It's not that," Seiko said gruffly over his shoulder. "Kita's pissed. Someone's managed to spark her temper _again_."

Ichigo grunted, and hurried his pace even more. Last thing they needed was Kita trying to stab someone. Damn it, that girl had such a bad temper. He was still slightly astounded that she'd tried to pull a weapon on the Old Man.

Although Seiko didn't know his way around the 10th Division barracks, he could sense Kita's reiatsu way better than Ichigo could. So Seiko followed Kita's reiatsu, and Ichigo followed Seiko, and the rest of the 10th squad Shinigami fell all over themselves to get out of the way. They rounded a corner to find a narrow hall that Ichigo knew led to spare rooms—since he'd stayed in one of those rooms himself—and standing at the far end was not Kita, but Tōshirō.

Ichigo's eyebrows shot up at the look Tōshirō shot them as they drew near. Apparently, Kita wasn't the only one in a temper.

"What's the matter?" Ichigo asked worriedly. Had Kita lost it entirely and attacked _Tōshirō_?

Tōshirō opened his mouth to respond, but Seiko was already striding towards the door just beyond the Shinigami Captain. Seiko grabbed the door.

"Don't," Tōshirō said quickly. "I think she's still—"

Seiko slid the door open.

An angry shriek. A crash. A small wooden side table came flying out of the room and hit Seiko in the face. Wood chips went flying, and the door slammed shut again.

"—getting dressed," Tōshirō finished.

Seiko spluttered, wiping blood from under his nose. "Damn her!" he snarled. "How was I supposed to know? She didn't have to chuck shit at me!"

Tōshirō looked slightly mollified for some reason. Ichigo figured that, in his current mood, Tōshirō was wishing he could throw some furniture too.

"Why the hell is she half out of her clothes any way?" Seiko grumbled, reluctantly beginning to pick up pieces of the broken table. Ichigo bent over to help.

Tōshirō snorted. "She was _all_ the way out of them when I found her."

Ichigo and Seiko both straightened to stare at him.

He rolled his eyes upwards. "Matsumoto got the brilliant idea that they should take a bath in the pond out back."

The door rolled open again with a bang. A fully-clothed, exceptionally furious Kita stepped out. Her long hair was loose and damp, falling all the way to her waist and swirling about her as she moved. She turned blazing eyes on Seiko.

"Ever heard of knocking?" she demanded icily.

"Meh," he said indifferently. "Nothing I ain't seen before."

Ichigo and Tōshirō both grabbed one of her arms as she tried to launch herself at her partner, spitting curses.

"Why are you so pissed off?" Seiko asked irately. "So the Captain here walked in on you in the bath. Big freakin' deal."

"It wasn't a _bathing_ pond," Kita said at the same time Tōshirō said, "It wasn't just me."

"Eh?"

Kita glowered. "Some other Shinigami showed up too," she said, relaxing enough that Ichigo and Tōshirō felt it was safe to let her go. She crossed her arms. "And Matsumoto wasn't entirely clear about . . ." She trailed off, looking faintly embarrassed.

"We should head to the meeting," Tōshirō said quickly. "If we leave now, we can get there before Matsumoto finishes changing."

"Good idea," Kita agreed, "since I still want to smack her."

"I _always_ want to smack her."

Seiko rolled his eyes. "Are you sure you two wouldn't prefer to get your smacking done before the meeting?"

Kita wrinkled her nose at him. "The whole idea is that an audience will discourage the urge to smack her."

"Since when has an audience stopped you?"

Ichigo and Tōshirō grabbed her arms again as Seiko jumped out of reach.

The sun was dipping towards the western horizon by the time they made it to the 1st Division compound where the Captain meetings were held. Tōshirō went in first to take his spot in the line, while Ichigo stepped off to the side just inside the doorway. He didn't think he was really invited, so decided to make himself as unobtrusive as possible. Kita and Seiko moved to stand between the two lines of Captains before bowing respectfully.

"Diviner-Captain Matsuo," the Old Man said, his voice as stern and gravelly as usual, "welcome back. I heard that you did a commendable job tracking down the demons in the city."

"Thank you," she said shortly. Ichigo figured she was focused on restraining herself from making snippy comments, mostly because the Old Man had the same sort of effect on him: instant urge to talk back.

"Captain Soifon also reported your suspicions about the purpose behind the demon presences here in Seireitei. I would like . . ." The Old Man frowned at Kita. "Is there a problem, Diviner-Captain Matsuo?"

She didn't answer. From his vantage point, Ichigo could see that she'd gone rigid with tension. She made no response to the Old Man's question.

"Kita?" Seiko asked in a quiet murmur that nonetheless carried through the silent room. "What's wrong?"

She was so stiff and tense that Ichigo wouldn't have been surprised to see her levitate off the floor.

"I . . ." She shook her head slowly. "No . . ." she whispered, her voice distant. "It can't . . . what . . ." She lifted one hand slowly as though she was trying to touch something in front of her. "It's not . . . not . . ."

"Kita!" Seiko said sharply, reaching for her shoulder.

She suddenly snapped her head up. The unnatural rigidity flowed from her body. Before anyone could ask what was happening, she spun about-face and flash-stepped the length of the room. Flinging the doors open, she pelted out of the room at top speed.

"Shit!" Seiko spat. He launched himself across the room, the great broadsword forming in his hand as he moved. "It's a demon," he yelled over his shoulder at the room of shocked Captains.

Ichigo sprang after Seiko. Tōshirō appeared beside him, and they both bolted down the long hall in Seiko's shadow. Footsteps told him that more Captains were following.

"'Oy!" Ichigo yelled to Seiko. "How d'you know it's a demon?"

"Because that's the only thing that could make Kita react like that!" Seiko shouted back. "Whatever it is, it's gonna be nasty."

Kita was ridiculously fast. Once outside the building, he and Tōshirō followed Seiko's Shunpo step for step, but Kita was already way ahead of them. They sprang from rooftop to rooftop, ignoring the startled stares of the Shinigami in the streets.

They finally found Kita standing in the large courtyard by the east gate of Seireitei. Ichigo barely noticed her—his attention was completely riveted by the great, gaping crack that zigzagged across the paved courtyard. Sickly green light leaked upwards from the split like noxious fumes, and the ground trembled.

"What—what is this?" a voice demanded from behind them.

Ichigo looked over his shoulder. Ukitake, along with every single Captain—minus the Old Man—and most Vice-Captains stood in a clump, staring aghast at the strange rend in the ground.

"Dimensional tear," Seiko growled. "This is how demons get from Hell to other worlds."

"There's a demon coming?" Soifon asked sharply.

"More than one," Kita whispered. "More . . ." Her pupils were so dilated that her irises had vanished entirely. "Seven Class 4 . . . Five Class 3. And . . ." She paled to the colour of snow. "A . . . a . . ."

"A what, Kita!" Seiko yelled, gripping his sword so tightly the veins in his arms were bulging.

"A . . . Class 2."

"No," he half-gasped, half-yelled. "Impossible. They _can't_."

"What's a Class 2?" Ukitake asked.

"A really, really, really powerful demon," Ichigo said, pulling Zangetsu off his back as he remembered how bad that Class 3 had beat up Seiko. And there were five of _those_ coming too. Shit.

Kita shook off her shock, her eyes focusing again. "We class demons by their power," she said to the group at large. "Each Class is about three times the strength of the previous Class. Snake-imps are a Class 5 demon."

Ichigo gritted his teeth. "So this Class 2 demon is three times as strong as the one that almost killed Seiko?"

"Yes. And it's approximately twenty-seven times more powerful than a snake-imp."

"_Shit_."

"Release your Bankai now," she told him as the ground shuddered and the green light flared. "You won't have a chance once they get here."

"Can't you stop them from coming through?" Kyōraku asked.

"Nothing can stop them now."

Soifon drew herself up and turned to her Vice-Captain. "Report this all to the Captain-Commander immediately," she barked, "and summon the rest of the Vice-Captains and all 3rd-Seat Officers here immediately. Clear everyone else from the area. Go. _Now!_"

Ichigo lifted Zangetsu in front of him and grasped his forearm with the other hand. "Bankai," he said quietly.

As his power flared and settled, he felt a chill in the air and looked over in surprise to see Tōshirō had invoked his Bankai as well. Ukitake and Kyōraku had both released Shikai, and Kenpachi was holding his Zanpakutō in one hand, grinning maniacally as the suffocating demon reiatsu spread through the courtyard.

Kita brought both hands in front of her, her fingers flashing through a series of elegant movements. When she brought her hands apart, purple light glowed on each palm. Using the light, she drew a glowing half-circle in front of her, and began marking complex symbols on the arch.

"Wait upon shining lies," she began in a hollow chant as she marked the symbols of the spell. "Eternal song, circling breeze, silver breath of the beast. Enter the walled garden of the moon, cry out with the turning waves."

Amidst the rippling green light steaming up from the enormous fissure in the courtyard, shadowy forms began to take shape.

Kita lifted a hand over her head and marked another strange, coiling symbol in purple. "Watching serpents burn among the flowers of torment. Cry out, and release the weeping earth. Cry out, and sing the last flawless tear. Cry out, and let all be silenced." She brought both hands out in front of her.

The demon shapes in the light became more solid. Ichigo recognized the silhouettes of three minotaurs. The smallest demon, sized a little taller than Ichigo himself, stood in the middle. The remaining nine were even larger than the minotaurs.

The green light flared, shuddered, and began to fade. The demon in the center stepped forward.

Kita flung both hands towards the demons. "Bakudō #139. _Shizushizu nankainichiru!_"

The glowing purple symbols flashed into blinding brightness. Simultaneously, purple symbols appeared on the foreheads of each of the thirteen demons, shining brightly on their dark skin. The half-circle of light faded away.

Kita swayed, gasping. Seiko grabbed her arm before she toppled. Clutching her chest with one hand, she caught her balance and shrugged off Seiko's hand.

"I've sealed their voices and their magic," she said to the Shinigami. "I can't hold so many for very long, so don't waste any time."

The center demon, the smallest and most probably the Class 2, moved forward out of the dissipating light from the dimensional tear. He had short, acid-green hair, glaring red eyes, and three horns protruding from his forehead. Unlike the other demons, this one was not an 'it' but clearly male. His legs were scaled and ended in reptilian feet, with a long, crocodile-like tail writhing behind it. Otherwise, he looked human.

The other demons were no more human-looking than the minotaurs. There were hairy ones, scaled ones, and spiky ones. They were all larger than humans, and wickedly armed with claws, talons, and fangs.

Seiko calmly issued instructions to the Captains on the best way to kill demons. Ichigo kept his eyes on the center demon, the leader. Hadn't Kita said that demon lords could control the weaker demons? If that one was the leader, maybe killing him would disunite the others.

The green-haired demon waggled his fingers in a mocking wave at Kita, then crouched, setting his feet. Ichigo had just enough time to recognize the demon was getting ready to jump forwards—

Movement flashed past him, and the demon was gone from his vision. A huge crash rent the air. Ichigo whirled around.

The building behind them had a huge hole in it. With another dark flash of motion, the demon sprang from the rubble, his eyes on something still in the hole. With a whirl of black and shining steel, Kita stepped from the hole, her weapon in her hands, blood running from her temple down her face to drip off her chin.

Shit. _Shit_. It was too fast. He could hardly see it, couldn't match it.

Damn good thing Kita's reflexes were better than his—she'd managed to summon her weapon and block the demon's charge just enough that it hadn't killed her.

"Ichigo!"

He spun around again at Tōshirō's warning cry, just in time to see a minotaur charging his back. With a roar, he slashed Zangetsu's black blade through the air, unleashing a tidal wave of power. The minotaur's eyes went wide with shock, and it lifted its arms to block. The black blast hit it full on, throwing it across the courtyard.

Tōshirō was already locked in battle with something that had about half a dozen tails. The other Captains were leaping into the fight. Sparkling pink shards engulfed a demon as Byakuya unleashed his Bankai.

Ichigo turned again, intending to help Kita. The lead-demon was after her, because killing her would break her spell—and if her spell broke, they were all dead. He searched frantically, finally spotting Kita. She was fending off a large, hairy something. As he looked, her weapon lit up with glowing red designs. Lifting the haft over her head, she brought it slashing down, and a huge blast of red power erupted from the tip to take the demon full in the face.

Apparently she didn't need any help at the moment.

He looked around again. There! Seiko was now in battle with the lead-demon, keeping it away from Kita. Summoning all the speed he could from his Bankai, he flash-stepped.

The lead-demon evaded his slash by a breath, his face contorting with fury. Ichigo brought his blade around, and the demon jumped backwards.

"Hey, Ichigo," Seiko said calmly, blood pouring from deep slashes in his arm. "How's Kita doing?"

"Okay for now," he replied shortly.

The demon grinned at them.

Claws tore through Ichigo's arm, giving him a matching wound to Seiko's. Ichigo turned—too slow, damn it all!—trying to bring Zangetsu around to block the lead-demon's next attack. Claws ripped across his thigh, and he staggered.

Reddish black light blasted past Ichigo as Seiko shot off some kind of attack, forcing the demon back.

Ichigo panted, clutching Zangetsu. Too slow, too slow. He couldn't keep up. Seiko was doing better than him, but not by much. He ground his teeth together, and flash-stepped after the demon.

Seiko and Ichigo had similar fighting styles so they could work well together. Ichigo was actually faster, but he wasn't used to an opponent that moved like the demon did. Again and again, the demon slipped away from his attacks—and slipped through his guard to inflict more wounds. He and Seiko couldn't corner it, couldn't pin it down.

Around them, battle raged. The other Captains were fighting with everything they had, but their lack of experience with demons was hampering their success just as much as it was for Ichigo. About half the Vice-Captains were already down, too injured to keep fighting, and a couple of the Captains weren't in much better shape. The weight of the demonic aura in courtyard was beyond suffocating, and no one could hold it off much longer.

They were losing.

Seiko roared in pain as the lead-demon ripped open his stomach.

"Seiko!" Ichigo yelled. He flash-stepped, swinging Zangetsu.

With a laughing grin, the demon caught the blade with his bare hand, stopping Ichigo in mid-swing. He had just a moment to feel shocked. The demon slammed his claws into Ichigo's chest, sinking the four-inch longs talons between his ribs. The demon clenched his fingers and bones snapped.

He then flung Ichigo away to block Seiko's attack. Ichigo hit the ground, limp with agony, barely able to breathe. The strength leaked from his muscles, and frenzied fear began to claw at his mind. He gasped, forcing the demonic aura away with his reiatsu.

Get up. _Get up_.

Every movement sparked an inferno of agony in his chest, but he forced himself to his feet. Leaning on his sword, he fought to get air into his torn lungs.

Seiko went down, blood gushing from his torn belly.

Somewhere behind him, someone female screamed.

To his left, a wall of ice engulfed a minotaur. A swirl of pink sword shards tore through the ice, shredding the demon encased inside it. The ice shattered, but the demon was still standing. Still fighting.

They were losing.

Ichigo slowly, painfully, lifted one hand to hover in front of the left side of his face. His fingers curled, tensed. Dark, burning energy seared his body. Black swept across his vision, and power filled his body, washing away the pain of his injuries.

Strength coiled inside him, waiting to be tapped. Power, entirely different to his natural reiatsu, entirely different from Zangetsu, swirled in and around him. His vision cleared, and he turned gold and black eyes on the green-haired demon.

The demon stared at Ichigo's strange transformation, apparently shocked. Ichigo didn't wait for him to recover from his surprise.

Zangetsu seared through the demon's left arm, taking it off in one swipe. The demon backpedalled, barely evading Ichigo's second slash. His claws flashed out, but Ichigo stepped to the side. He swung again and again, flash-stepping, drawing out every last drop of strength and speed that his Hollow mask gave him.

It wasn't enough.

The demon moved like a snake, bending impossibly to avoid every strike. He struck out with his claws, taloned feet, and even tail, but Ichigo blocked or dodged each attack. They were evenly matched even with the demon missing an arm—but Ichigo's strength was waning.

The demon's claws flashed out, and Ichigo couldn't make his body move fast enough. The strike caught the edge of his mask, shattering the left side. Ichigo grunted in pain, falling back. The demon grinned and leaped after him, seeing his opportunity.

Ichigo couldn't breathe. His lungs felt like they were filled with sand. His arms were too heavy, his body too slow.

The demon froze in mid-lunge, red eyes going wide.

Ichigo felt it a moment later. A terrible, crushing, constricting weight descended on him, pushing him down to his knees. Zangetsu's blade hit the ground, too heavy to hold up. His Hollow mask shattered.

All around him, the sounds of battle died as the unbearable weight settled over them all. Ichigo's chest heaved, but no air entered his lungs. His vision darkened, and his muscles seized. He couldn't move. The weight increased, driving him into the ground like gravity increased a hundredfold.

It was reiatsu. This devastating heaviness was reiatsu. But whose?

The green-haired demon was bent almost double, but still on his feet. As he struggled to straighten, the glowing symbol of Kita's spell shattered from his forehead. The demon managed a grimacing smile.

"_Curse that meddling worm_," he hissed.

If Ichigo had been able to draw breath, he would have screamed. At the sound of the demon's voice, wrenching, tearing agony speared his ears and drove into his skull. His head was filled with fiery coal and a thousand red-hot knives, slicing and tearing and burning. His vision went white then black, and he seemed to disconnect from his body. He couldn't feel anything, couldn't see, couldn't think.

His consciousness struggled to reconnect. Groggily, distantly, he opened his eyes.

Someone was holding him up. His damaged lungs pulled in a whisper of air, and the stench of demon filled his nose and mouth. He was . . . surrounded by demons. The lead-demon was holding him up by the back of his neck, claws digging into his skin. Zangetsu dangled from his limp fingers, and it took all his strength just to keep the blade from slipping from his grasp.

The weight of the strange reiatsu was growing, growing, growing.

"Let him go!" screamed a familiar voice—Kita. "Leave him!"

Ichigo knew she was screaming from the strain in her voice, but he couldn't hear her properly. She sounded a thousand miles away. His head was stuffed with scorching lead.

"_Silence, Hunter brat_," the lead-demon growled. Ichigo nearly blacked out. "_My venture today must now be delayed—lucky for you—but I shall take some small compensation._" He dug his claws in deeper and lifted Ichigo a few inches higher. "_This one will keep me entertained for some weeks, I think. He has interesting abilities._"

"No," Kita yelled. She sounded noticeably weaker; the demon's voice was agonizing beyond words. "Leave him. Take me instead."

The demon laughed, its piercing shriek of mirth tearing through Ichigo anew. His world became nothing but pain, and he couldn't see or hear or even tell if time was passing. Only when green light consumed the world and tearing pressure dragged at his flesh did his mind stir, and sharp panic pricked him through the choking numbness.

Then darkness replaced the light, and his mind sank into blissful nothingness.

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**. x : X : x .**

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**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Oh, now this is a cliff-hanger! I've missed cliff-hangers. Seems it took me a little while to get back into my stride since my Inuyasha fics.

Inventing that Kidō incantation was actually pretty fun. I tried to combine randomness with a loose theme and balanced syntax to make it sound authentic. Hope it worked. The canon spells weren't a very good guide because they're all so different; I have to wonder if maybe they don't translate very well?

Please review if you have a spare minute!

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GLOSSARY:

**Shizushizu Nankainichiru** ("Quietly Die in the South Sea") - Bakudō #139: A Kidō spell that seals a target's voice, as well as the target's ability to use Kidō.* (As compared to the spell _Yasurakananemuri_ "Peaceful Sleep" which seals voice but not Kidō.*)

*Denotes a non-canon term/concept.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: **Bleach does not belong to me, but Nakita, Seiko, and Saiu do.

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DEVIL'S SMILE

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Chapter 12

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Nakita squeezed her eyes shut and denied the tears that burned behind her eyelids. She would not cry, nor weep, nor sob. She would not shed tears for a human boy she'd barely known.

It was her fault.

"Damn you," she whispered to no one.

She could see it in her mind's eye, still feel the demon's voice tearing through her eardrums.

"_Leave him?_" the creature repeated, still laughing derisively. "_Do not mistake me for a fool, Ekisha bitch. If I took you, I'd have every Ekisha in Hell come hunting me. But this one?_" He gave Ichigo a little shake, but the Shinigami boy appeared completely comatose—not to mention blood-soaked and barely alive. "_What's one more lost soul in Hell?_"

Nakita rammed the heels of her hands into her eyes, trying to banish the memory. If Ichigo was lucky, he would die of his wounds before the demon had a chance to 'play' with him. Maybe the trip through the dimensional tear would kill him. If he was lucky.

Her fault. All her fault.

Her memory sped forward an hour. She was kneeling in a complex spell-circle, and the voice of the Warlord echoed inside the magic bubble of communication she'd created.

"_Denied_."

Shaking off the flashback, she slid her fingers into her hair, pushing her bangs off her forehead. She'd requested—begged—for a search and rescue team. She'd explained that Ichigo was her responsibility, that relations with the Soul Society would collapse completely if the Hunters left a kidnapped Shinigami to be tortured into a perverted shadow of a human soul. She'd used every argument she could think of, good, bad, and even ridiculous.

She'd known what the answer would be, even before beginning the spell to speak with her superior across dimensions. Hadn't the demon said it? What's one more lost soul? Ichigo was a Substitute Shinigami, not a 'real' one. He was just a human boy with a bit of power.

Her hands clenched into fists around clumps of her hair, pain pinging through her scalp as strands pulled out. She could see their faces in her mind, when she'd told the Shinigami that there would be no rescue. She had seen it in their eyes. Horror. Anguish. Accusation. Cold fury.

They blamed her. They had every right to blame her. Not only had she brought Ichigo into this, she was a Captain. Ichigo had been her responsibility, whether he was officially under her command or not.

Pulling her knees up to her chest, she wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin on her knees. She was curled up on the window ledge in the empty guest room of the 10th Division. Seiko was still at the 4th Division, too injured to be moved yet. Nakita had stayed at the 4th Division just long enough to receive basic healing before returning here. She'd finished the healing on her own. Being able to heal one's own injuries was an Ekisha requirement.

She didn't think Captain Hitsugaya or Vice-Captain Matsumoto wanted her around any more than the injured Shinigami packed into the 4th Division, but at least she could escape the hateful stares for a little while.

An agony of helpless fury burned in her chest. Damn them all. If she could have, she would've gone after Ichigo herself, orders be damned. But the Warlord had ordered her to stay in Soul Society and monitor the situation with the Shinigami. The moment she appeared in Hell, she would be arrested for treason and locked away until the situation had passed.

An hour. One hour in Hell and she could use her Diviner's Sight to ascertain if Ichigo was alive or not. Denied even that. Damn them.

She clenched her teeth until her jaw ached, embracing the physical pain in the futile hope that it might distract her from the emotional agony. How could that boy have wormed his way into her affections so quickly? So quickly, so easily she hadn't even noticed. She imagined he had that affect on most people he met. There was something special about him, something she couldn't quite define.

Something special that would now be twisted into perversion in the darkest pits of Hell. Damn them all.

"It's not your fault."

Nakita jerked upright, pulling her hands from her hair. She twisted around on the window ledge.

The youngest of the Shinigami Captains, Hitsugaya Tōshirō, stood in the doorway, watching her with intent blue-green eyes. Her mouth twisted with self-disgust. She'd been so absorbed in her internal nightmare that she hadn't noticed his approach. She couldn't remember the last time someone had snuck up on her, seeing as her Diviner's Sight was nearly as powerful as the Warlord's Diviner.

She was slipping. Her guard was slipping. Curse this place, but it was too easy here. Too easy to forget everything she needed to remember.

For nearly two decades, she'd been playing a careful, dangerous game—she was hiding her age from the rest of the Yokujin. For souls, age was impossible determine by appearance alone, and most relied upon a person's personality and emotional maturity to reveal any one soul's age. Maintaining the farce that she was a mature woman—and not the equivalent of a teenager—was a delicate task, a careful balance of acting and genuine response. Every moment of every day in hell, she had to mind her actions, her responses. Her temper was practically legend, and that helped hide her less mature reactions. Any time she had trouble dealing with something, she let her anger—and she had a lot of rage just waiting for an excuse to be released—reign over her actions.

It was so different here. In Hell, she could never forget how close death was, not when she was surrounded by enemies, both demon and otherwise. In Soul Society, that razor focus, that constant threat, wasn't there, and she was slipping. Ichigo, already, knew that she was much younger than she pretended to be, and she wondered now just how much Hitsugaya and the other Shinigami had noticed. She had to work harder to maintain the farce that protected her life.

When she didn't respond, Hitsugaya looked away, gazing at the blank wall instead. "Kurosaki wasn't your responsibility," he continued.

She stiffened. "I brought him into this," she said, making a real effort to keep the bitter rage out of her voice. "That makes him my responsibility."

Of all the Shinigami Captains, Hitsugaya was the only one she hesitated to offend. Not because she didn't think he could take it, but because out of all the Captains, he was the only one who saw her with clear eyes. He was the only one who really seemed to listen and understand what she had to say. When she'd told the Shinigami to release their Bankai against the oncoming demon onslaught, he was the only one besides Ichigo who had done as she said. Out of the Captains, he was the only one who had earned her respect.

"I might not know Kurosaki that well," Hitsugaya said, "but I've known him longer than you. Whether you'd brought him into this or not, he would have found a way to become involved." There was sorrow in his eyes as a smile ghosted across his lips. "I've lost count of the number of times he's butted his nose into Shinigami affairs without invitation—and without having an entire city block in his town destroyed, either."

She shook her head slowly, looking away from his penetrating gaze. "What _might_ have happened makes no difference. It's what did happen that counts."

He shrugged, and she was glad he wasn't pressing the issue. Surreptitiously flattening her bangs after having her fingers in them, she shifted on the window sill to put her feet on the floor. "How are the injured Shinigami doing?"

"Incredibly, no one's died. It looks like everyone will make a full recovery." He shook his head. "We were lucky. If the demons hadn't left when they did . . ." Grief flashed in his eyes as he silently acknowledged the sacrifice that went with the demons' timely retreat. "I don't understand that part. Why did they leave? They were winning."

She wished she was still sitting with her knees up so she could wrap her arms around them. A shiver ran through her. "Didn't you feel it?" she asked in barely more than a whisper. "The . . . reiatsu?"

He nodded tersely.

"That reiatsu belonged to a demon lord."

His eyes widened. "You mean a demon lord was coming _here_?"

"It goes against every law in Hell I've ever heard, but I can only assume it was following the demons attacking us, since it didn't complete the journey through the dimensional tear. It seems that it turned around to pursue our attackers as they returned to Hell."

His hands curled into fists. "What does it mean?"

She hadn't been planning to confess her suspicions to anyone, yet the words came from her lips without her conscious instruction. "I think it means dissention . . . among the ranks of the demons lords."

He took two steps into the room. "So a demon lord ordered the attack on Seireitei, and another demon lord came to stop it?"

"I think so. But I've never heard of such a thing. The demon lords know better than to defy—" She cut herself off with a sharp inhale. What was she thinking?

"Defy who?" Hitsugaya demanded. "Defy what?"

She shook her head, biting her bottom lip and closing her eyes. Forbidden. How close she'd come to forfeiting both their lives. This place was turning her brains to mush.

"Captain Matsuo," he growled warningly.

"Nakita," she corrected wearily. "I'm too tired for formalities. And I can't tell you that. I shouldn't have said anything at all."

He glared. She glared back.

"I'm not being contrary just to irritate you," she snapped when his glower didn't relent. "If I finish that sentence, I'll be executed for revealing too much and you'll be assassinated for knowing too much."

His eyes flashed wide again, then narrowed. He nodded reluctantly. "All right. But I can safely assume that there is an authority in Hell even higher than demon lords?"

"Yes, that's safe enough. Details, however, are off-limits."

"Fine." He mulled it over. Mulling, she knew from her Diviner's assessment of his abilities, was a lightning-fast and highly productive exercise for him. He was smart. Too smart for her to be slipping up around.

Her Diviner's Sight flickered, warning her of the approach of two newcomers—a flicker like the one she _should_ have noticed when Hitsugaya neared her. She looked expectantly towards the open door, and Hitsugaya followed her lead.

Renji and Rukia paused hesitantly in the doorway, eyes darting from Hitsugaya to Nakita and back again.

"Come in," Nakita said resignedly. She already knew why they were here. It wasn't hard to guess.

"Captain Matsuo," Renji said politely. He looked nervously at Hitsugaya. "Captain Hitsugaya, I wasn't expecting . . ."

"No," Nakita told them.

"W-what?" Renji stuttered.

"No, I won't help you sneak into Hell to rescue Ichigo," she said shortly.

Shocked horror flashed across their faces—followed by anger.

"I didn't know you could read minds," Hitsugaya commented, apparently choosing to ignore that the two Shinigami were trying to disobey direct orders from their Captain-Commander. Yamamoto had, after a short discussion with Nakita, forbidden any Shinigami to attempt to enter Hell for any reason.

"I can't," Nakita explained. "But I can see strong emotion, and these two would only come to me for one of two reasons: to seek my help in rescuing Ichigo, or to kill me in vengeance for Ichigo. Since they don't seem particularly murderous at the moment . . ."

"Why not?" Rukia burst out, striding into the room. "Why won't you help? We can't just leave him—"

"No," Nakita repeated, looking away from the pain in the girl's eyes. "I won't see another innocent lost to the horrors of Hell. I won't help you damn your souls to an eternity of torment."

"We don't care about the risks!" Renji said, his voice rising nearly to a shout. "Ichigo would do the same for one of us!"

"You don't understand," Nakita said tiredly, suddenly swamped by exhaustion. "It's too late. You'd never be able to find Ichigo without a Diviner. No Diviner will help you. I can't. If I return now, I'll be arrested by the other Hunters. You would be doomed the moment you set foot in Hell anyway. Every demon within ten miles would smell your fresh, untainted souls and hunt you down.

"Even if you stayed alive long enough to find Ichigo, you could never save him. That Class 2 demon? He's taken Ichigo to his realm in Hell. Hundreds of Class 2 demons, all in one area. You would be prisoners just like Ichigo before you could even lift your swords." She sighed. "We can only pray that Ichigo is already dead."

"What?" Rukia gasped, tears warbling in her voice. "How can you say that!"

Nakita shook her head slowly. "Death is preferable to what awaits him otherwise." Her eyes burned and she looked away, blinking quickly. How well she knew what awaited him otherwise.

Too late, she realized that her words were having the opposite of their intended effect.

"We have to save him!" Rukia exclaimed, her face twisted with anguish. "We'll take the risks. Just open the way to Hell, that's all!"

"Ichigo needs us, we won't abandon him!" Renji yelled.

Nakita's eyes flashed to Hitsugaya. Unnoticed by Renji and Rukia, his lips moved silently in a Kidō spell. He lifted a hand towards Renji. The two Shinigami were working themselves up into a near frenzy, driven by pain and desperation and love to save their friend from his unalterable fate.

"Bakudō #61: _Rikujōkōrō_," Hitsugaya said.

"_Rikujōkōrō_," Nakita muttered, her spell overlapping the tail-end of his.

Six flat bars of golden light snapped into place around Renji and then Rukia, paralyzing them in place. Two tears slipped from Rukia's eyes to trail down her face, and Renji's eyes burned with a rage nearing hatred. Underneath it was agony.

"I'm sorry," Nakita whispered to them.

Hitsugaya sighed heavily. "I'll have them taken to holding cells," he said, sounding almost as weary as Nakita felt. "Perhaps Captain Uohana can give them something . . . to help . . ."

Shoulders hunched, he fled the room at a fast march. Nakita wished she could follow him out, but felt compelled to stay with Rukia and Renji. Leaving them alone in the room, bound with Kidō, seemed exceptionally cold-hearted. Their eyes stabbed at her accusingly.

"I'm sorry," she said again, her voice cracking.

She swallowed hard and tried not to give into the wave of misery threatening to engulf her. Hadn't she told Inoue that, before these baffling few days, she'd had no one to hurt for her? Inoue seemed to think that a terrible thing, that aloneness, but at least . . . with no one to hurt for her, there was no one that she had to hurt for. No one who could make her hurt, make her hurt like Ichigo was making her hurt.

And it was all her fault.

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. o : O : o .

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Orihime clutched the edge of the sink, staring sightlessly at the soapy water and dirty supper dishes. Tears filled her eyes and spilled over, unnoticed.

She couldn't sense Kurosaki.

It had been some time since Orihime had found out that she could feel Kurosaki's presence. She wasn't sure at exactly what point she'd realized that she sensed him so much more clearly, more strongly than everyone else. All she knew was that she could always tell where he was, no matter how far, no matter how strong or weak his reiatsu. Even if she couldn't find him, she knew that was out there, somewhere.

When he was in Soul Society and she wasn't, she could still sense him distantly. Six hours ago, he'd vanished from her senses, vanished so completely that she felt like she was blind, lost in darkness without her guiding light, the one constant in her life.

For six hours, she'd been waiting for him to reappear to her senses. Six long, terrifying hours. Nothing had changed.

_Something_ had happened. Something horrible. She knew it. Why else would she stop sensing Kurosaki? The obvious answer as to why his reiatsu had vanished—an answer she wouldn't even acknowledge—still didn't explain why she'd had no word from Rukia. Orihime had phoned Urahara a dozen times, but he hadn't heard anything either. Yoruichi would go to Soul Society if they didn't hear anything by morning.

She desperately, frantically needed news _now_. She needed to know. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything until she knew Kurosaki was safe. She stared at the sink full of dishes and soapy water and tried to remember what to do next. All she could focus on was the blank, empty spot in her mind where Kurosaki's warm, steady presence was supposed to be.

She heaved a trembling sigh and picked up the dish cloth. Lifting a plate out of the sink, she slowly wiped the dripping cloth over it. Try not to think about it. Try not to think about it.

Something crashed in the living room.

Orihime straightened, turning with the plate in one hand. Blinking to clear the teary film from her eyes, she squinted at the shadowy doorway. Had something fallen over? A quiet shuffling sound drifted out of the dark room, and her heart jumped into her throat. Someone was in the room.

She set the plate down on the counter, and lifted both hands to hover beside her hairclips, waiting to summon her power. Seconds stretched into minutes with nothing but silence.

A darker, more solid shadow crept into the doorway. A foul, gagging scent wafted through the kitchen, and Orihime's blood suddenly felt like ice in her veins. The shadow shifted, moving into the light. The small, hideous creature grinned evilly, revealing its snake-like fangs and glowing red eyes.

A demon.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Another cliff-hanger!

I'd like to forewarn readers that Chapter 13 is going to be . . . a little different. All I ask is that you bear with me and read to the end before you decide if you want to flame me. Fair enough, right?

If you have a sec, I'd love a review!

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GLOSSARY:

**Rikujōkōrō **("Six Rods Prison of Light") - Bakudō #61: a Kidō spell that summons six thin, wide beams of light which lock around a target's midsection, holding them in place. The target is then unable to move any part of their body, including the parts that were not struck by the beams.


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: **Bleach does not belong to me, but Nakita, Seiko, and Saiu do.

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DEVIL'S SMILE

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Chapter 13

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It was hard to breathe.

That was his first conscious thought in what seemed like a long time. It was hard to breathe. The air felt like sludge in his lungs, dragging slowly down his windpipe as he inhaled, sluggishly expelling from his mouth as he exhaled. The atmosphere seemed to be the exact opposite of a high altitude; instead of being too thin and light, the air was chokingly thick and heavy. His lungs worked in great pulls, heaving with the effort of forcing the almost-liquid atmosphere to move.

His eyelids fluttered as more thoughts followed this first observation. His body ached, but the pain was the muted burn of almost-healed injuries. Considering his health record of the last little while, he was all too familiar with the different stages of healing injuries. His ears, on the other hand, felt raw and clouded, as if cotton swabs had been stuffed in them.

The memories were coming back now, flooding his mind like boiling water, searing him back into full consciousness. With a gasp, Ichigo shot into a sitting position, opening his eyes at the same moment.

He blinked, stunned at the strange sight that met his alarmed gaze.

The couch upon which he'd been lying was black leather, comfortably squashy, and very modern. The room was large and spacious, decorated sparingly but with good taste—except for the colours. Everything was black, with just a bit of pale grey and dusty red to break up the monotony. The walls and ceiling were black wood panels, the floor black stone covered with a large, thick grey area rug. The couch had bookend side tables—black—each holding a grey lamp, with small blue flames glowing in the center.

A huge painted canvas covered most of one wall, but no matter how Ichigo squinted at it, he couldn't make sense of the swirling colours. There were four doors leading off the room, two closed, one open halfway to reveal part of a large Western-style, black-canopied bed. The last was a set of sliding glass doors that led to some kind of balcony.

Ichigo carefully pushed himself up. His chest burned where he remembered the demon plunging its claws into him, but when he looked down, he discovered his torso was wrapped in pristine white bandages under his kosode. His confusion increased tenfold. His eyes flashed around the room until he spotted what he desperately needed for comfort—Zangetsu. The sword, covered by its hilt wrap, was propped against the nearest side table. He quickly grabbed it, relief sweeping through him along with bewilderment. What the hell was going on?

Rising to his feet, Zangetsu in one hand and the other pressed to his chest as the horribly thick air clogged his lungs, he wobbled across the room to stand in front of the glass balcony doors.

And he stared.

The room he was in must have been very high, because he could see for miles and miles. Miles of jagged black mountains, forever clawing at the maroon sky. An eerie, purplish sun hung low above the sharp peaks, staining the wispy clouds blood red. Every nerve in his body screamed in response to this landscape of horror, and his skin crawled like it was trying to peel off his skeleton.

This nightmare backdrop could only be Hell. He was _in_ _Hell_.

His heart hammered in his chest, and his lungs strained to suck in the sickly air. He clutched Zangetsu and staggered backwards, unable to tear his eyes away from this repulsive perversion of the real world but frantically needing to retreat. His knees trembled, and he staggered weakly.

A hand caught his elbow, steadying him before he fell.

Ichigo jerked away reflexively, wrenching himself around to see who—or what—had snuck up behind him.

Large eyes that were neither red nor black, but somehow both, regarded him with a detached kind of curiosity. No pupils interrupted the dark orbs that were set in sharp contrast to white sclera. For a moment, Ichigo was caught in that mesmeric gaze, unable to see anything else.

Gasping, he jerked back another step, and the rest of the stranger came into focus. Black leather clothes. Long black hair that fell in wisps to a slender waist, the strands shifting ever so slightly in a non-existent breeze. Pale skin the colour of washed out teal ink, the faint tinge like faded stain. Sharply pointed ears and tiny black horns.

The stranger's face was soft and beautiful in a way that inexplicably attracted Ichigo's attention; he couldn't say he'd ever noticed whether another male was handsome or not. The creature, for surely he wasn't human, was young, maybe Ichigo's age—outwardly—and several inches shorter than Ichigo. Even more disconcerting than his appearance, however, was the strange pull that the creature exuded. Ichigo felt _drawn_ to him, like a paperclip to a magnet.

Ichigo intended to demand who the young man—creature—demon—was, but he couldn't find his voice. His heart pounded, and he could do nothing but stare into those red-black eyes.

The creature shifted closer, close enough that he was invading Ichigo's personal space. So close that their faces were inches apart, and the strange allure tripled in strength. Ichigo was unexpectedly swamped with the desire to touch the creature's long hair, to see if those black locks were as soft as they looked.

Panic exploded in the pit of his stomach, and Ichigo scrambled backwards until his back hit the glass doors. The creature leaned forwards as though wishing to follow Ichigo's movement, but he did not approach again.

The three steps between them wasn't nearly enough for comfort.

"Who—who the hell are you?" Ichigo gasped.

The stranger watched him, unblinking for too long.

"I am called Saiu," he said finally in a very soft, quiet voice. His words came out smooth and lilting, almost like the lyrics of a song. His voice was slightly higher-pitched than Ichigo would have expected, but it was a pleasant tenor. Too pleasant. Ichigo's skin tingled, and his clenched jaw quivered.

"Are you a demon?" he forced out.

The moment the words left his mouth, his brain snagged on the question. Was this guy really a monster of Hell? The eyes, the horns, the pale, greyish-teal skin—they said demon. But Saiu, as he called himself, looked so _normal_ otherwise. His voice didn't hurt, and he didn't seem to be giving off any demonic aura; in fact, he didn't seem to have any reiatsu at all. He didn't stink either.

As that thought crossed his mind, Ichigo focused involuntarily on Saiu's smell: an earthy musk, like a forest at night after a rainfall. Damp earth mixed with cool darkness. Somehow. It was . . . surprisingly agreeable, if a bit stronger of a personal scent than Ichigo would expect from anyone human. Again, that strange feeling of—of _attraction_ washed through him. He wanted to close the gap between them, to press his face against the smooth neck of the demon and breathe in his scent—

His hands shook.

"I am a demon," Saiu confirmed almost gently, his weight shifting forwards as if he were as drawn to Ichigo as Ichigo was to him.

"What are you doing to me?" he whispered, unable to summon even anger as a defence against this strange psychophysiological response the demon was stirring in him.

The demon's eyes glazed, his face slack. He seemed to be breathing deeply as though he could smell a delicious meal cooking in the oven—but his glassy eyes were on Ichigo. He drifted closer, so gracefully, so smoothly that Ichigo barely noticed.

And then the demon was right in front of him again, so very close. Ichigo stared into those hypnotic midnight-red eyes and his will to resist crumbled completely, lost in the swirl of undeniable attraction that slid through his veins. Zangetsu slipped from his slack fingers to clatter to the floor. Ichigo wanted to wrap himself around the creature in front of him, to breathe his scent and touch his skin. He wanted to surrender completely.

Hesitantly, of its own accord, his hand rose to touch the hair that fell against the demon's cheek. The black strands were soft and light, like silk.

The demon's cool fingers were suddenly curled around his hand. Gently, the demon pulled Ichigo's hand to his face, bringing Ichigo's wrist under his nose to inhale his scent. Ichigo shivered, his eyes sliding partway closed. The creature followed the inside of Ichigo's arm with his nose, his breath warm on Ichigo's skin. The creature shifted closer, and then he was pressed against Ichigo's chest, his slender body surprisingly hard with muscle under the leather garments.

One hand still holding Ichigo's wrist, the demon lifted the other to lightly touch Ichigo's cheek, and he felt the sharpness of claws against his skin. A shudder ran through him, sharp desire mixed with tingling pleasure. Ichigo's vision lost focus as the heady sensations pulsed through his body, unfamiliar but blissfully marvellous.

The demon's lips parted as he exhaled, and Ichigo saw that his teeth were pointed like a cat's—and he yearned for . . . for something. He didn't know exactly what he longed for, but the strange desires burned in his blood, and he trembled.

He wrapped his free arm around the demon's waist, crushing the creature against him.

The demon's eyes widened, focus returning to the dark red orbs. Heedless, Ichigo gave in to that first urge, and pressed his face into the demon's neck, delighted by the feel of the soft strands of hair and pleasantly cool skin. He breathed in deeply.

The demon pressed its clawed fingers against Ichigo's cheek.

"Ichigo," he crooned softly. "Listen to me now."

He made a small noise, his conscious mind sleeping, suffocating under these other feelings, these baser instincts that commanded his body now.

"Ichigo, let go now."

To disobey that voice was unthinkable. He realized he had both arms clamped viciously tight around the demon, holding him fiercely. Moving with slow, dimwitted precision, he loosed his arms and dropped them to his sides.

"Very good," the purring voice praised. "Take this now."

Something hard, covered in cloth, was pressed into his hand. His foggy brain recognized the familiar weight, but he couldn't remember its name.

"Ichigo," the demon said, drawing his attention. He stared into those magnetic eyes, awaiting commands with utter passivity. "Use your reiatsu now. Wrap it around your body. You know how to do this?"

He nodded clumsily. Concentrating ferociously—anything to please this beautiful creature—he slowly drew his reiatsu around his body, thickening it to block out all outside influence, just as someone had taught him—but he couldn't remember her name either.

The demon stepped back, watching Ichigo's face carefully.

Seconds ticked past, unnoticed by Ichigo. Then, sluggishly, thoughts started moving through his head. Like swimming through deep water, his consciousness began to awaken, shrugging off the strange haze of desire. His eyes found the demon's face, and his lungs locked with horror. Panic squeezed his muscles, and tremors of sheer, unadulterated terror shook him.

He couldn't breathe. It took three tries to make any noise.

"What . . . did you . . . do to me?"

The demon sighed. "Before today, I have not had occasion to encounter a soul that wasn't already damned," he said quietly, his melodic voice sending another faint thrill through Ichigo. "When I first found you, you were heavily tainted by demon wounds. I had not realized how your reiryoku would change after purification. You are . . ." His eyes slid closed as he breathed in deeply, tilting his head back in near rapture. He focused again. "You are absurdly tempting," he finished, unabashed.

"_I'm_ tempting?" His voice squeaked humiliatingly.

"Indeed," the demon—Saiu was his name, Ichigo remembered—said calmly. "Pure souls . . . I was—unprepared—for my reaction to you. I briefly lost control of my aura, which impelled you to provoke me further, which in turn weakened my control even more." He sighed again, as though regretting that he'd regained his senses in time.

Anger flared—finally—and he tightened his grip on Zangetsu. "Don't blame it on _me_," he snapped.

"Of course not," Saiu said agreeably. "It was entirely my error. You have no defence against my aura."

"I thought demonic auras just made bad emotions worse," Ichigo mumbled, his fury fading as fear took over again. "Making you more angry or more scared or whatever."

Saiu shrugged gracefully, and Ichigo fought back another surge of that unnatural attraction. He thickened his reiatsu more.

"That would describe the average demonic aura," Saiu said dismissively. "I was not planning to introduce you to _my_ aura's effects any time in the foreseeable future."

Ichigo tensed. "If that wasn't your plan, then what is?"

Saiu studied him for a moment. "Come sit down again, Ichigo. You are still recovering."

"No thanks," he shot back insolently, disgusted that Saiu was pretending to care about his health after—after _that_.

The demon's eyes brightened to a sharper red, and Ichigo recognized by instinct alone—since Saiu's expression hadn't changed—that he'd pricked the demon's temper. Fear bubbled in his chest as his instincts informed him also that making this creature angry was a very, very bad idea.

He bit his bottom lip. "I guess it wouldn't hurt," he conceded grudgingly. Giving Saiu a wide berth, he returned to the couch and perched on the edge, Zangetsu still clutched in both hands.

Saiu followed, coming around the other side of the couch to sit on the cushion farthest from Ichigo. The demon lounged comfortably, utterly relaxed, observing Ichigo's tension with uncaring eyes.

"So why am I here?" Ichigo asked after a long moment of silence, working to keep the bite out of his voice. If he'd ever needed to step cautiously, now was it.

Saiu puffed out a breath in a very human way. "I saved your life because I would like a favour of you, Ichigo."

"You saved my life?"

Saiu's dark eyebrows rose. "I would think that's obvious."

Ichigo scowled, his cheeks heating. Of course it was obvious. "What happened to the other demons?"

"Dead," Saiu said carelessly. "To invade Soul Society . . . unforgivably reckless behaviour."

Ichigo shivered. He didn't know which was worse: being in the hands of the green-haired warrior demon, or trapped in this room with Saiu—soft, pretty, and absolutely the most _terrifying_ creature he'd ever encountered. A monster who could steal his will to fight, smother his mind, and warp his senses until his own instincts became his enemy—

He realized he was shaking again, trembling, spasms running down his arms and legs. It was hard to breathe, and he felt dizzy.

Saiu sighed again. "Calm yourself, Ichigo. You are safe here. For now," he added as an afterthought. His red eyes narrowed. "If you cannot calm yourself, I will do it for you—but I would prefer you were clearheaded."

Ichigo cringed. If Saiu used his aura to overwhelm Ichigo's mind again . . . He curled his fingers around Zangetsu, struggling to clear his mind. Zangetsu had taught him this. To control his fear. He breathed in slowly, timing his breaths to match Saiu's calm rhythm of aspiration.

"Very good," Saiu complimented him—the master praising a well-behaved pet.

Ichigo opened his eyes, trying to think logically. Attacking Saiu seemed out of the question. Ichigo couldn't fight the demon's aura; if Saiu weren't suppressing it, it would already have leaked through Ichigo's reiatsu. Saiu had spared him for a reason, and that looked like his only chance to make it out of here.

"So what favour did you want?" he asked warily.

Saiu flicked the long strands of his hair from his eyes to better appraise Ichigo. "I have need of a contact—an agent, if you will—in the human world and in Soul Society. Seeing as how you are capable of both and were so neatly dropped into the palm of my hand—it seemed a profitable coincidence."

The demon's eyes wandered about the room. "It is not my nature to involve myself directly," he murmured, and Ichigo wasn't sure if Saiu was really talking to him anymore. "The situation is completely out of hand. Where did they uncover the nerve for such disobedience? I cannot permit it." He abruptly focused on Ichigo again. "I would like you to track demon activity in the real world and Soul Society so I may be kept fully up-to-date on new developments."

"Isn't that more of a Demon Hunter job?"

Saiu's lips quirked down in a frown—his first actual _expression_. "I would prefer an independent agent."

Ichigo took a deep breath, forcing his panicky thoughts to focus. He had to think this through. "Do I, uh, have the option of passing on the job?" he asked as politely as he could.

Saiu's face smoothed out again, the frown melting away. "Of course. I would not have an unwilling agent. How utterly useless."

He blinked, disbelieving. "You'd send me back to my world?"

Saiu flexed his fingers, and wicked inch-long claws unsheathed. He examined a claw, flicking the thumb nail against it. "No."

Of course not. "Then what?"

The demon shrugged, flexing his fingers again. The claws slid back in until only the top thirds were visible, the points almost flush with his fingertips. "You are welcome to leave whenever you wish." He waved a hand towards one of the closed doors. "I don't care what you do."

"But—"

Ichigo bit off the protest, his stomach turning to stone as he looked into those indifferent eyes. Saiu was being wholly honest—he _didn't care_. Ichigo presented a convenient solution to a problem, and the demon had exerted some negligible effort to save Ichigo's life and see how it would play out. If Ichigo didn't cooperate, then that was that. The potential solution fell through, minimal energy wasted. But Saiu wasn't going to give Ichigo a nanosecond more of his time and attention if Ichigo was no longer of any use to him.

"Although," Saiu added thoughtfully, "you could stay here, with me. I imagine I would be a less painful alternative to the demons waiting beyond this place."

Ichigo recoiled, remembering how Saiu had come at him, eyes glazed, breathing in Ichigo's untainted soul like some mouth-watering delicacy. A choking sound escaped him.

Saiu shrugged. "Keeping you here against your will would be bothersome. Do as you wish then, Ichigo." He started to rise.

"Wait," Ichigo forced out through clenched teeth. "What—what exactly would I have to do? As your—agent?"

Saiu settled himself on the couch again, leaning towards Ichigo with a hint of animation in his lovely, icy face. "It is quite simple, in fact. I want to know what the demons prowling outside Hell are up to. It's mainly observation I require of you. I can inform you of when and where to expect demon infiltrations, and you will track them as you can."

"That's it? Just follow them around?"

"In secrecy, of course. And should another incident like the one in Seireitei occur again, I will need to be informed immediately so I can arrange countermeasures."

Ichigo scrunched his face up, focusing on the details to control his panic. "Countermeasures? Why? Don't you demons like chaos? Don't you want to wipe out the Shinigami?"

Saiu nodded. "Indeed we would enjoy such a venture. And then when we'd wiped out Soul Society, and then the human world, and even the Hollow world, there would no longer be any source for chaos—or food—and we would waste away. Everything in this universe is based on balance, Ichigo. We each have our own world for a reason. It is natural for weak demons to attack the other worlds and create chaos, just as it is equally natural for stronger demons to bring them back again."

The demon turned sideways on the couch to face Ichigo more fully, pulling his feet up onto the cushion and curling up in the very image of contentment. Ichigo blinked, trying to work past the strange image, so out of place amidst his internal dread.

"It is exactly the same as the world of the Hollows," Saiu continued patiently, apparently deciding this was important for Ichigo to understand. "Do you not wonder why the powerful Menos do not devour the human world? They understand the balance as well. Were they to destroy the human world in a frenzy of gluttony, all Hollow would be forced into cannibalism to sustain themselves, and eventually they, too, would cease to exist.

"Balances must be maintained for the survival of all. That is why I wish to learn the true nature of these strange occurrences in Hell that threaten our balance. To do so, I need to know of the strange occurrences outside Hell."

"And that's why you need me," Ichigo said.

"Yes."

Ichigo grudgingly adjusted his perception of Saiu. The young demon didn't give a damn about lives lost or soul destroyed, but he was trying to prevent the avalanche that would obliterate everything. Even if his motivation seemed to be entirely self-centered, it was a good thing he was trying to do.

But what should _Ichigo_ do?

He flexed his jaw, trying to think it through—but all too aware of Saiu sitting almost within touching distance. Too close for Ichigo to trust that Saiu's aura wasn't affecting him; he knew how powerful the aura could be, but he had no idea what kind of subtle, subconscious influence it could be exerting.

"Could I have a little bit of time, to think about it?"

Saiu considered his request. "I suppose that is acceptable. I have some matters to attend to anyway. Stay here. If you leave this suite, I'll assume you're passing on my offer."

Ichigo nodded, quashing his aversion to being given orders. It was all too clear that Saiu was not accustomed to defiance in any form, from human, demon, or anything else—and the possible reasons for that were too panic-inducing to consider.

Saiu shifted on the couch, and before Ichigo could recognize that the demon wasn't rising to his feet as expected, Saiu was pressed against his side, one hand curled lightly around Ichigo's throat. His head filled with the earthy scent of the demon, and he shuddered to feel the firm warmth of the body against his.

Saiu inhaled deeply. "Too tempting," he whispered on the exhale.

Ichigo panted with fear, struggling against the haze of senseless attraction that clouded his thoughts. Saiu's aura didn't trigger a purely physical response—if that were the case, it would be much easier to fight. This yearning ran deeper, beyond the physical to the emotional, spiritual, and instinctual.

And then in one blinding flash, he understood. Demons naturally created fear with their presence, and their auras exacerbated that response. Saiu's strange magnetism, on the other hand, triggered a kind of attraction in the humans near him, and _that's_ what his aura fed on. Everything in the world that Ichigo might have yearned for—lovers, family, friends, home, happiness, power, peace—suddenly Saiu himself became the object of every single one of those longings. It was devastatingly overpowering and impossible to resist.

Just before his mind went under completely, Saiu pulled away. For a terrible moment, Ichigo wanted to grab the demon and drag him back, to give in to the blissful abandonment of having every one of his deepest desires suddenly fulfilled, physically tangible and solidly in his grasp.

But it was a manufactured contentment, a warped, revolting manipulation of his very being. He shook worse than ever, unable to keep from shrinking back as Saiu stood over him.

"Hmm," the demon mused, watching Ichigo. "If it did not set such a bad precedence, perhaps I would keep you when this is finished." He paused. "But I suppose you would prefer to be set free and return to your previous life after completing my task, wouldn't you? I can arrange that."

"Why should I believe you?" Ichigo whispered.

Saiu looked mildly surprised. "I would not go back on my word, Ichigo."

He said it like it was such an obvious thing, and Ichigo had trouble doubting his sincere statement. There was something here that he was missing, but he couldn't think, couldn't focus with Saiu standing there, so close, so dangerously, terrifyingly close.

Ichigo watched Saiu turn and cross the room with a regal elegance that briefly reminded him of Byakuya. The door slid open, then closed, and finally Ichigo was alone. The silence pressed on his cotton-plugged ears, and he noticed again how thick and viscous the air felt in his lungs.

Clenching his trembling hands into fists, he curled up on the couch, pressed his face to his knees, and choked on the scream of horror trying to claw out of his throat.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE:

There you have it! As I warned, a little different—a different kind of battle with a different kind of opponent.

So for those of you who wondered/worried, no, I wasn't planning to kill any characters—not yet, at any rate.

I would love to hear what you think of the chapter, so if you have a minute, please share your thoughts!


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: **Bleach does not belong to me, but Nakita, Seiko, and Saiu do.

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DEVIL'S SMILE

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Chapter 14

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Tōshirō scowled at the blank page in front of him, his brush laden with ink and poised above the smooth white paper. He gritted his teeth and attempted—again—to focus. He was supposed to be writing his weekly report, but his mind refused to stay on task.

For the dozenth time, his eyes lifted of their own accord to rest on his somewhat unusual guest.

Nakita—Captain Matsuo—was slumped on one of the two sofas in the 10th Division office. Her chin rested on the back cushion, her face pointed vaguely in his direction. But her eyes were staring and sightless, pupils dilated too much. He'd already snuffed all the lamps but the one on his desk, but even still, it had to be uncomfortable.

She was searching for Kurosaki using her Diviner's Sight. He'd never seen anything like it. She was so still, like she'd gone to sleep—but beads of perspiration dotted her cheeks. What she was trying to do was supposedly impossible, but she'd admitted she'd never tried to find a person across dimensions before, so maybe there was a way that no one had discovered yet.

As he watched her, he wondered if she was being foolish. It had to be dangerous to stretch her ability so far, especially considering that she hadn't rested much since the demon attack. Albeit, it had been almost seven hours since. It was nearing midnight, but it felt much later. The evening had dragged by, each hour stretching into what felt like days.

Rangiku was curled up on the other couch, fast asleep. Her right arm was wrapped in bandages, but otherwise she'd made it through the battle in good condition. Unlike some of the other Vice-Captains.

Abarai Renji and Kuchiki Rukia were locked in the 4th Division holding cells. They'd both been offered medicine for a dreamless sleep, but both had refused. Tōshirō suspected they were still harbouring foolhardy plans to rescue Kurosaki, and he'd warned Uohana to keep them under a strict watch. The last thing they needed was a rebellion on their hands. Everyone had enough problems as it was.

Nakita stirred, blinking rapidly until her eyes returned to normal. She glanced at him and smiled wearily. Tōshirō managed a small smile in return, somewhat surprised. Nakita—Captain Matsuo, he reminded himself—didn't exactly smile a lot. Exactly like him, as Rangiku would say.

"Any luck?" he asked quietly.

She shook her head, her full lips twisting with unhappiness. "I'll try again tomorrow."

He considered pointing out that it wasn't wise to wear herself out with such a task, but dismissed the impulse; she probably already knew as much.

She watched him a few minutes in silence while he wrote a few lines of his report.

"What's it like?" she asked suddenly. "Being a Captain, when all the other Captains are so much older?"

His lips twitched as he noted that she called the other Captains older, instead of him younger. As he'd already suspected, she wasn't much older than him.

"What's it like?" he asked. "Being a Diviner-Captain?"

She huffed a short laugh. "Fair enough. But you've been a Captain longer than I have, haven't you?"

"Yes. It's . . ." He considered for a moment, then shook his head. "It's difficult. It's better now, but in the beginning . . ."

"No one listened," she said.

"They treated me like a child playing a game," he agreed.

"They thought they could get away with disrespecting you."

"They thought they could intimidate me."

She smiled fiercely. "Did you kick their asses?"

"Of course I did."

"So did I. Still have to, sometimes." She hesitated, fiddling with a loose thread on the sofa. "That's why you insist on being addressed as 'Captain'?"

He loaded his brush with more ink, staring at the page. He didn't bother to ask how she'd picked up on that so quickly. "I figure if they have to call me Captain all the time, they'll realize they need to treat me as a Captain all the time too."

"Probably true." She folded her arms on the back of the couch and rested her chin on them. "I'll remember."

He frowned, looking up. "Remember what?"

"To call you Captain. I'm not very good with the whole formality and respect thing, but I'll remember."

He smirked. "I noticed that about you." His eyes moved to her face and away. "It's okay though. It doesn't matter so much with you."

"What do you mean?"

"If you didn't call me 'Captain' . . . I don't care. You're not a Shinigami, after all."

His eyes wandered around the room, anywhere but her face. Normally it mattered to him. A lot. But . . . _She_ understood perfectly. He didn't need her to call him 'Captain' to know she recognized and respected him as one.

He peeked towards her; she was picking at that loose thread, her eyes uncharacteristically downcast. When she wasn't scowling, yelling, or frigidly hostile—which didn't seem to be very often—she was actually really pretty. The thought took him by surprise. Like him, she held her position and authority around herself like a shield, her defence against those who questioned her capabilities—a defence that made her seem colder and harder than she actually was.

Like him, she was shockingly talented for her age and experience. At the same time, he suspected that though he had more experience as a Captain, she was the one with more experience in the field—and in the hardships of a difficult life.

"I've been wondering," he began, drawing her attention again, "about the Kidō you used against the demons."

"Ah," she said knowingly. "_Shizushizu nankainichiru._ Bakudō #139."

He'd been wondering if he'd misheard. "Bakudō #139," he repeated slowly. "How is that possible? There are only 99 Kidō spells."

She smiled a little smugly. "Spells 1 through 99 make up Lesser Kidō. Greater Kidō consists of spells 100 through 222. As far as I know, only demons and some Ekisha are capable of Greater Kidō, so it would make sense that Shinigami have lost the Greater Kidō spells that they can't use."

"Over 200 spells?" he repeated, torn between shock and awe. "Why can't Shinigami use the higher spells?"

"It has to do with the complexity of the magic," she explained. "You have to be able to _see_ what you're doing. Demons can see their magic by default, and some Ekisha can develop the ability to see it with their Diviner's Sight. Even then, anything higher than 149 is extremely dangerous to cast. Those Kidō draw so much reiatsu from your body that you can burn out all your reiryoku and die."

He eyed her. "Can _you_ cast higher than 149?"

Her gaze darted away from his. "I can, in _theory_, cast all the way up to 199, but as to whether the spells would kill me—I haven't had reason to actually try any yet."

"What about the 200-level spells?"

"There have only been eighteen Ekisha in the history of the Yokujin who have successfully cast a 200-level spell—and all but seven died as a result of the spell."

"Huh. Bad odds."

"Definitely. I don't plan to _ever_ try one of those. I don't see why I'd need to, anyway. The higher the spell, the more specific the effect. The 200-level spells are strange. When I first starting training in Greater Kidō, I thought the highest levels would be spells of mass-destruction, but in reality, they seem useless except in certain very precise situations."

"What kinds of situations?" he asked curiously.

Instead of answering, she looked towards the door. "Someone's coming," she said quietly.

He nodded, glancing at the door too. A moment later, a soft knock.

"Come in."

The door slid open and a messenger approached Tōshirō's desk. He handed over a folded paper and immediately retreated, shutting the door behind him. Tōshirō broke the seal on the letter and read it quickly. He sucked in a sharp breath.

"What is it?" Nakita asked.

He crushed the paper in his fist. "One hour ago, Kurumadani Zennosuke, the Shinigami assigned to Karakura Town, was found dead. His body was partly eaten, but it appears he died from a snake bite to the throat."

Nakita shot to her feet so fast he jerked in surprise. Then she swore so viciously that his face blanched for a second.

"What's wrong?" he demanded, leaping up from his chair.

"I _forgot!_" she snarled. "How could I forget? _Inexcusable!_ What's wrong with me?"

"Forgot what?"

She grabbed two fistfuls of her hair, which hung loose down her waist, and for a second he was afraid she would rip it out, she seemed so distraught.

"I forgot about the third snake-imp! When me and Seiko were attacked, just before Captain Kuchiki came to talk to me, I fought three snake-imps. I killed one and Rukia killed one that I caught, but the third—with everything that happened, I _forgot_!"

"I thought it was probably a snake-imp, judging by the death wound," he said tersely.

"Where's the nearest Senkaimon?" she snapped, still furious with herself. "That snake-imp will hunt down every person in Karakura Town with a hint of reiatsu and eat them."

"This way." He shot towards the door with Nakita on his heels.

The demon had just killed. How long would it take it to find some other spiritually-rich human? He didn't need to ask Nakita; he already knew it wouldn't be long enough.

**

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**

. o : O : o .

* * *

Orihime clutched her shoulders, hugging herself to keep from shaking. Her fingers dug into her skin, but she hardly noticed. She was listening hard.

The demon—she knew it was a demon from Kurosaki's descriptions of the ones he'd fought—rattled something in the alley, out of sight. Orihime shrunk down more, breathing too quickly. Her hiding spot wasn't a good one: the small gap between a dumpster and the brick wall behind it. The garbage littering the alley had distracted the beast, giving her a moment to plan—not that she had any idea what to do.

It was always like this. Something attacked, and all she could do was run away and wait to be rescued. She'd really tried this time. She'd managed to keep from being wounded with Santen Kisshun, but Tsubaki just wasn't fast enough to use Koten Zanshun on the demon. It was so agile; it dodged every strike.

Who would rescue her this time? Kurosaki was still missing. Ishida, Urahara, Yoruichi, Sado—none of them could possibly know she was in trouble. The horrible demon was hiding its reiatsu. Orihime couldn't sense it, and she was only a few yards away. Could the others feel her reiatsu spiking? Probably not. Her reiatsu wasn't that strong, and everyone was almost certainly sleeping, unable to sense anything.

Was she going to die in this dirty alley? She'd already run so far. Her lungs burned, her legs ached, and a sharp stitch in her ribcage stabbed sharply with every breath. She'd tried to flee in the direction of Urahara's store, but the demon kept cutting her off, and now she was lost. It was toying with her, drawing out her suffering and terror, feeding off her emotions.

Help. She needed help.

Crunching metal filled the quiet alley, the sound bouncing sharply off the high walls of the apartment buildings bordering the alley on both sides. It sounded like the demon was chewing on something—a can?

Panic fluttered in her chest, but she thickened her reiatsu like Nakita had taught her so the demonic aura wouldn't affect her as much. She squeezed her eyes shut and wondered again what she was supposed to do.

That was a stupid thought. What should she do? She should _fight_. How could she give up so easily? How many times had she seen Kurosaki face an opponent that seemed impossible to defeat? How many times had she seen him struck down only to struggle to his feet again and fight on? All she did was run, run, run. It was time to fight back. Even if she got hurt. Even if she died.

No one was coming to save her. It was time to fight. Fight, or die.

She took a deep breath. "Okay," she whispered.

Waiting for the next crunch of metal to reveal the demon's location, she threw herself out from behind the dumpster, rolling to come to her feet facing the monster—just as Rukia had taught her. She didn't hesitate—just as Kurosaki had taught her.

"Tsubaki!" she cried. "_Koten Zanshun_. I reject!"

A flash of golden light shot like a bullet for the demon as it was still looking up from its mutilated piece of trash. Its red eyes widened. It jumped back—

With a blinding explosion of light, Tsubaki struck. The demon screamed.

Orihime screamed too, clamping her hands over her ears as the demon's cry ripped through her skull. Blood flowed from her ears, and she dropped to her knees, whimpering. A clatter, a high-pitched snarl. Then a sharp-clawed hand grabbed her by the throat.

Her eyes flew open—and she was staring into the demon's red glare.

It bared its fangs at her, fury twisting its bestial face. Its other arm ended in a bloody stump just below the shoulder. Tsubaki had hit, but not a fatal wound. She opened her mouth to call him back for another attack, but the demon squeezed her neck and she couldn't breathe. It lifted her up, right off her feet.

"_Stupid bitch_," it hissed, sending another wave of stabbing pain into her ears. "_I'm going to_—"

It stopped talking and looked over its shoulder. With a sudden shriek of rage, it dropped her. Orihime crumpled to the ground, dazed and in shock. She gasped for air and looked for the demon.

It stood rigid in the center of the alley, its back to her. The pointed end of a black and silver blade protruded from between its shoulder blades, and a large, dark shadow stood in front of it. With a jerk, the figure pulled the blade from the demon in a splatter of blood. Smoothly changing the direction of the sword, he struck again, taking the demon's head from its neck in a single graceful sweep. The demon's body collapsed.

Orihime stared. Her mouth opened, but she had to swallow before she could make any sound.

"K . . . Kurosaki?"

She _knew_ it was him; her inner senses told her that much—the dark spot in her mind was once again filled with his presence. Yet her eyes made her doubt.

In the dim light of the alley, his face was ghostly pale. Dark, bruise-like shadows marred the skin under his eyes, and his face was hard and cold like a mask. Stress lines around his mouth told her he was in pain, and the numerous white bandages peeking from under his clothes might have been why. But that wasn't why she stared, so uncertain.

Starting from the back of his left hand, a strange, glowing symbol coiled up his arm to his shoulder, its tendrils reaching up his neck to mark his left cheek. It seemed to be part of his skin, yet its dark reddish light reached out to hover around him at the same time, shining right through his kosode. The design was swirling and spiky, its shape somehow malignant, suggesting darkness and . . . evil.

Kurosaki took a slow step towards her. His eyes were shadowed, haunted, distant somehow. Like he was watching a nightmare inside his head even as he looked at her.

"Inoue?" he mumbled.

"Kurosaki?" she repeated, struggling to her feet. She stepped closer, hesitating as she eyed the strange symbol that marked him. It was starting to fade, the light retracting into his skin.

He swayed a little, peering blurrily at her. "Inoue," he said again, and it sounded like a confirmation this time. The symbol lost its glow entirely until it looked like a slightly repulsive reddish-black tattoo, and then that faded too until there was no sign of the mark at all.

Kurosaki moved then, stumbling towards her. She thought he was coming closer to check if she was hurt, like he always did, but he didn't stop. He staggered to her and wrapped both arms, sword and all, around her shoulders, crushing her to him. She gasped, stiff with shock.

For a moment, he just held her, clutched her like a life preserver in a surging ocean. Then he sagged, his weight pulling at her. She grabbed his shoulders, trying to hold him up, but he bore her down, and they both dropped to their knees. He pulled her closer still, until she could barely breathe, but she didn't flinch or draw away. She clung to his shoulders, getting her arms as far around him as she could.

He pressed his face into the spot where her neck joined her shoulder, his face buried in her hair. He was shaking, shaking so hard he might have been breaking into pieces. Orihime squeezed him reassuringly even as frantic fear swam through her stomach. She'd never seen him lose control like this before. What had happened?

"Inoue," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Inoue?"

Hearing the question in his voice, she remembered the nightmare behind his eyes. Whatever had happened, wherever he'd been, he was trapped in it. He couldn't escape the memories—or worse, the very essence of his trauma—and he was lost and coming apart at the seams.

"Kurosaki," she murmured, holding him as tight as she could, "it's all right. You're home now. You're safe. I'm here." She lifted one hand to sink her fingers into his hair, gently pushing his face against her neck. "You're safe now. I'm here, and I won't leave you."

He was still trembling, still trapped in the nightmare. "Kurosaki," she soothed, working hard to keep the desperate fear out of her voice. How long did she have to draw him back? How long before he _couldn't_ come back? "Kurosaki, listen to me. Kurosaki? . . . Kurosaki?"

He didn't answer. He didn't seem to hear her. He hugged her closer, and she clutched him, her hands clenching into fists. She closed her eyes tightly and bent her face down to put her cheek against the top of his head.

"Ichigo?" she whispered for the very first time.

He shuddered violently and went abruptly motionless.

"Ichigo?" she said again, a little quaver in her voice. "Ichigo, are you okay?"

"Inoue," he mumbled. His grip on her loosened into something more natural, more comfortable. "Orihime?" He stumbled over her name.

She smiled, squeezing his shoulder comfortingly. "It's me, Ichigo. You're home now. You're safe."

"Yes," he whispered. "Home."

They didn't move for a long time. Her knees ached, bruising against the hard asphalt, but she never considered shifting even an inch. She held Ichigo against her heart and wished they could have stayed there forever.

Finally—too soon—he gently untangled himself from her. She stared at the ground, suddenly shy, blushing hotly. Pulling the bandages from his right arm—there were no wounds beneath them—he carefully wiped away the blood that had run from her ears. She blushed more and didn't look at him.

He rose gracelessly to his feet, still wobbly. With his sword in one hand, he extended the other towards her. She blinked in surprise and looked up him.

His cheeks were faintly pink, his gaze darting to hers, away, and back again. But he smiled a bit, and his eyes were warm with only a hint of the haunted shadows in them.

"Come on, Orihime," he said quietly, still offering his hand. "Let's go see Urahara."

Her smile formed all on its own, and she took his hand with no more hesitation, letting him pull her easily to her feet. She entwined her fingers through his, holding his warm hand firmly. He didn't look at her, ostentatiously scanning the alleyway, but his fingers curled readily around hers.

Together, they walked out of the alley and down the empty street, and she knew she wouldn't be letting go of his hand for a long time.

**

* * *

**

. x : X : x .

**

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**

GLOSSARY:

**Koten Zanshun** ("Solitary Sacred Cutting Shield"): Inoue's offensive technique using Shun Shun Rikka, her "Six Flowers of the Hibiscus Shield". The spirit Tsubaki forms a thin barrier to either side of himself. By flying at an enemy, the barrier can reject anything to either side of it, thus cutting through enemies like a sword.

**Santen Kisshun **("Three Sacred Links Shield"): Inoue's defensive technique using Shun Shun Rikka, her "Six Flowers of the Hibiscus Shield". The spirits Hinagiku, Lily, and Baigon arrange into a triangle, forming a barrier capable of repelling anything on the far side.

**Senkaimon **(World Penetration Gate) - The dimensional gateway that Shinigami use to come to and leave Soul Society by unlocking it. When guided by a Hell Butterfly, the Senkaimon takes the form of a waiting room entered through a sliding door.

**Shizushizu Nankainichiru** ("Quietly Die in the South Sea") - Bakudō #139: A Kidō spell that seals a target's voice, as well as the target's ability to use Kidō.* (As compared to the spell _Yasurakananemuri_ "Peaceful Sleep" which seals voice but not Kidō.*)

*Denotes a non-canon term/concept.


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: **Bleach does not belong to me, but Nakita, Seiko, and Saiu do.

* * *

**DEVIL'S SMILE**

* * *

**Chapter 15**

* * *

Tōshirō's feet thumped a frantic beat on the wooden floor as he ran down the hall, jaw tight with tension. Nakita was nearly tripping on his heels, she was so close behind him. They could both feel it, had both felt it the instant they'd stepped through the Senkaimon—Kurosaki's reiatsu.

He skidded slightly, grabbed the sliding wooden door, and flung it open with a crash.

Urahara and Tessai looked up from their mugs of tea. Inoue stared at him, mug poised just below her lips. And beside her, staring not with shock but with dull surprise, was Kurosaki.

Nakita grabbed Tōshirō's arm, squeezing into the doorway with him. Her eyes were wide, her mouth hanging open. For a moment, there was complete silence.

"Ichigo!" Nakita gasped, and Tōshirō twisted to look at her, taken aback by the horror in her voice when he expected relief. He took a step into the room to clear the doorway, and she shot past him to fall to her knees beside Ichigo.

"Ichigo," she breathed, her eyes—pupils dilated—flashing up and down his body like he was marred with wounds only she could see. She took his left arm, pulling it out to stare at the unmarked skin. Then she swore so badly that everyone in the room flinched.

"What's wrong?" Urahara asked quickly, looking between Nakita and Kurosaki.

She hissed softly and stretched his arm out. Murmuring something in another language, she pressed a finger to the back of his hand. Like a light bulb switching on, reddish-black designs rippled into existence up his arm, over his left shoulder, and onto his neck and cheek. She lifted her finger and the marks faded into nothing.

"What was _that_?" Tōshirō demanded, approaching the table to kneel on Nakita's other side.

"Demon mark," she said darkly. Kurosaki's gaze skittered away from hers. "What happened to you, Ichigo?"

He stared at the table, and Tōshirō noted the dark circles under his eyes, the pale pallor of his skin, the sickly hollowness in his cheeks.

"Don't press him now, please, Nakita," Inoue said. She had both arms wrapped protectively around one of Kurosaki's. "He's been through enough."

Nakita's hard eyes flashed to the human girl. "Did he tell _you_ what happened?"

Inoue bit her lip, shaking her head.

"Ichigo, I need to know," Nakita said tersely. "If you don't tell me, I can't _help_ you."

Ichigo sighed. "I'm not sure you can," he mumbled.

"Let's start at the beginning," she went on as if he hadn't spoken. "What happened after the demon pulled you into Hell?"

Urahara and Tessai gasped. Inuoe dropped her mug, spilling tea across the table.

"Don't remember."

"What's the first thing you do remember?" she asked impatiently.

Kurosaki took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He continued to stare at the table, and his demeanour was completely wrong. Tōshirō's eyes narrowed. Kurosaki's self-confidence had been shattered. However healthy he seemed externally, on the inside he'd taken a fatal hit and was slowly bleeding to death.

"I woke up in a room," Kurosaki said in a dead voice. "My wounds had already been treated. There was a demon there."

"What did it look like?" Nakita asked intently.

"Really pale, bluish skin. Pointy ears. Little horns and retractable claws. Long black hair. A bit shorter than me. He . . . he said his name was Saiu."

"Saiu?" Nakita repeated blankly. "By the description, certainly a demon lord. They look the most human. But there isn't a demon lord named Saiu. We—the Hunters—are made to memorize all demon lord names so we can recognize them immediately. There is no 'Saiu'. Did he seem powerful?"

Kurosaki nodded mutely. "He'd masked his reiatsu, but his aura . . ." He shuddered violently, and Inoue tightened her grip on his arm.

Nakita appraised his reaction and nodded to herself. "It was different from the demons you already encountered?"

"Very different," he whispered.

She frowned absently. "All the signs say demon lord. I don't understand."

"Maybe he lied about his name?" Tōshirō suggested tentatively.

"Maybe," she said doubtfully. She glanced into Kurosaki's tormented eyes. "It's not you, Ichigo," she told him, her voice sharp. "A demon's aura is directly proportionate to its strength. Demon lords are as powerful as demons get. Their auras are strong enough to overwhelm your conscious mind in moments."

Her eyes became distant as she looked back on memories. "Some demon lords have emotion-specific auras—auras that target a particular emotion, feeding it until you can't feel anything else. Your consciousness pretty much shuts down at that point. There's no way to fight it." She pressed her lips together for a moment, paling slightly. "Before a Hunter can become a Captain, we have to experience a demon lord's aura—not that even a Captain can resist a demon lord's aura for long. The Warlord will bring in a demon lord—they're happy to volunteer for a chance to torment a potential Captain—and then lock you in a room with the demon lord and let it toy with you for an hour or two."

Tōshirō suppressed a shiver. He'd had enough trouble with the auras of the demon's they'd met so far.

"If you survive, you get promoted to Captain. If you break under the strain, then they let the demon keep you." She blinked the memories away, focusing on Kurosaki again. "So whatever the demon's aura did to you, Ichigo," she said, "was beyond your control. With an untainted soul to play with, I'm sure he went out of his way to toy with your emotions, shred your confidence, and warp your sense of self until you became your own enemy. They did the same thing to me. They love twisting souls and making them dance like puppets on strings. They take no greater pleasure than slowly destroying a pure soul, piece by little piece."

Kurosaki nodded slowly, avoiding everyone's gazes. But the horror in his eyes receded and a bit of tension left his shoulders.

Nakita took a deep breath before picking up where she'd left off. "So you woke up and the demon was there. Then what?"

Kurosaki was silent for so long, Tōshirō wondered if he was going to answer at all.

"He offered me a deal."

Nakita went rigid. She closed her eyes and breathed slowly in and out. "I was afraid that was the case." Kurosaki looked at her, mute with fear. "You'll have to go through with it, Ichigo," she said sadly. "Whatever you agreed to. There's no way out once you've been marked."

He slumped. "That's what I thought."

She patted his arm awkwardly. "Do you want to tell us the deal?" she asked, her voice surprisingly gentle.

"I just have to—to help him out with something on this side, then I'm off the hook." He looked at Nakita, his eyes tortured. "Should I believe that?" he asked weakly. "Can I trust his word?"

She smiled reassuringly. "Yes, Ichigo. Demons are bound to bargain truthfully. They have to honour deals like yours to maintain their reputation, because they bargain with other demons as well. If a demon breaks a deal, no one in Hell will acknowledge that demon again. It's the strictest kind of taboo."

He relaxed a bit. "I guess that's okay then."

"You made it back, Ichigo," she said. "You've already achieved the impossible." She pushed herself to her feet. "Now how about I cleanse you of demon taint? You absolutely reek of Hell. Two trips through a dimensional tear and a tour of Hell in less than eight hours—no wonder you look like a walking corpse."

She and Inoue coaxed Kurosaki to his feet and settled him in the center of the room. Urahara, Tessai, and Tōshirō moved against one wall to get out of the way. Nakita drew some complicated symbols in glowing yellow light around Kurosaki, murmuring quietly. Once the preliminary work was complete, she sat cross-legged in front of him and started the spell. A golden dome encased Kurosaki, and black streaks formed almost instantly on the walls of the bubble as the spell began to leech the taint out of Kurosaki's body and reiryoku.

"You'll start to feel like yourself again in no time," she told him. "Hell is an infectious sort of place. Your body absorbs it, and it's very difficult to break free even after you've left."

He nodded, his eyes closed behind the golden light. His expression slowly smoothed out, and a little colour came back into his cheeks. The golden dome steadily darkened until it was solid black. Nakita had to disperse it and start a fresh spell to finish drawing out the demon taint.

When she was finished, she examined Kurosaki closely with her Diviner's Sight.

"You look much better," she told him. "It'll take a little time for the damage to heal completely, but you should recover fully in a few days."

"What damage, exactly?" Urahara asked, sounding a little worried. "He appears healthy."

Kurosaki rolled his shoulders. "I _feel_ like I just got off my deathbed." His brows drew together in a familiar expression of irritation, and Tōshirō was relieved to see such a clear sign that Kurosaki was feeling more like himself.

"Hell is like a poison for the soul," Nakita explained. "A pure soul like Ichigo's in Hell is like putting an albino in the middle of a desert. The albino would get burned to a crisp. Damned souls aren't affected nearly as much, because they're already tainted."

"But don't you spend time in Hell?" Kurosaki asked, confused.

Nakita's eyes shifted away from his questioning gaze. "I live in Hell, Ichigo. I come from Hell. I _am_ a damned soul."

Tōshirō already knew as much from Rangiku, but Ichigo and Inoue obviously didn't. They both gasped, shock and horror twisting their expressions.

"What did you do to end up getting damned?" Kurosaki demanded. "You're not evil."

Nakita shook her head. "You're naive, Ichigo. There are many kinds of evil. Just because I'm not the obvious kind of evil doesn't mean I'm not evil at all."

"I don't believe you." Everyone looked around sharply at Inoue. She shrunk down slightly, but her expression was determined. "I don't think you're evil. _You_ think you're evil, but that doesn't mean you are."

"Orihime," Urahara said gently, "souls don't go to Hell unless they're evil."

"What makes you evil then?" Inoue asked stubbornly. "Tell us why you're evil, Nakita."

Nakita stared at the wall across from her, her face a cold, bitter mask. "Take my word for it, Inoue Orihime." She rose to her feet. "I'm supposed to be monitoring the situation in Soul Society. I need to get back. Ichigo, you'll have to come along. I want to keep an eye on your recovery. Oh—and we need to present you to Rukia and Renji before they break out and actually find their way into Hell to rescue you."

"I want to come too," Inoue said quickly. "Urahara, can we use your special Senkaimon?"

"Of course."

Tōshirō rose to his feet to follow the others out of the room. As he walked, he watched Nakita with thoughtful eyes. She was convinced of her evil, but he, like Orihime, didn't see it. His mind wandered, searching for the gap in logic and reason that might reveal a thread of the truth.

What kind of evil could possess a young woman like Nakita and drive her to such sin as would carry her to hell?

And what would happen if that evil possessed her again while their lives depended on her unique abilities?

* * *

**. o : O : o .**

* * *

Nakita stifled a yawn, hunching over her bowl of porridge. There were only a few Shinigami in the large dining hall, seeing as the tip of the sun had barely crested the far eastern horizon. Matsumoto sat across the narrow table from her, looking even more hung over than Nakita felt. It had been a very long day yesterday.

With a thunk, Ichigo set his tray of food on the table beside Nakita, dropping onto the bench. Inoue sat on his other side, beaming cheerfully.

"Good morning, Nakita, Rangiku," she chirped.

"'Morning, Orihime," Matsumoto said with a bleary-eyed nod. Nakita made a small grunting noise and shovelled a spoonful of porridge into her mouth as an excuse not to answer.

"Are you okay, Kita?" Ichigo asked with frown.

"Hmph. Fine. Hunters are traditionally active at night, you know."

Ichigo snorted. "What's the difference? The sun there isn't exactly useful."

"Hell has a sun?" Matsuomoto asked with morbid curiosity.

"Sort of. It's kind of purple."

"Violet," Nakita corrected crabbily.

For a moment, they all ate their breakfasts in silence.

The hot porridge brought a little life back to Nakita, and she arched her back, stretching her arms out in front of her. She really needed to work on getting more sleep when she was in the field. Well, she could always take a nap later. It wasn't like there was a lot to do here.

Lips turning down, she turned her gaze on Ichigo, watching him shovel food in his mouth like a typical teenage boy. The dark circles had faded from underneath his eyes, but there was still a bit of a hunch to his shoulders.

Hell was a damaging place, but Ichigo was strong enough to recover. That really wasn't what was worrying her.

She invoked her Diviner's Sight, again examining the invisible coils of demon magic wrapped tightly around Ichigo. She'd tried her best to purify it last night, but the spell work was superior, intricate beyond her comprehension and extremely powerful. She'd never seen a spell like it, and even her powerful Sight couldn't unravel the spell's purpose. It didn't seem to be harming him, but that didn't mean anything. When the spell activated . . . she had no idea what would happen.

The demon he'd dealt with—this mysterious Saiu—had put the spell on Ichigo, possibly without Ichigo even being aware of it. Whether the spell was part of their bargain or not, it wasn't a good sign. Even if Nakita could have removed the spell, she couldn't risk interfering between Ichigo and his demon. If she compromised Ichigo's side of the bargain, even involuntarily, the demon would claim Ichigo's soul in reparation. The best she could do was watch Ichigo closely and help in any way she could. The longer she could keep him with her, the better. She couldn't help if they were separated.

As she let her Sight rove over him, she saw it again: that strange darkness at his core. She'd caught a glimpse of it the first time she'd met him. A thick, black reiatsu. It wasn't demonic, but seemed instead to resemble the power of a Hollow. It was a latent power, dangerous and malevolent. Another thing she'd never seen before.

She quirked her lips thoughtfully, deciding not to mention it. Ichigo had enough to worry about, but whatever that power was, he needed to learn how to control it if he hadn't already. It could easily destroy him. No wonder Tōshirō had seemed so sure that Ichigo would have gotten tangled up with demons even without her involvement. The boy was a walking trouble magnet.

Sensing her frowning stare, he looked up from his food. "So what's the plan for today?"

"The Captain hasn't given me any tasks yet," Matsumoto put in immediately, "so I don't know what sort of jobs I'll be avoiding today."

Inoue giggled. Ichigo rolled his eyes and asked, "Where _is_ Tōshirō?"

Matsumoto shrugged. "He was up and about way before me. I think he had to meet with the Captain-Commander about leaving Soul Society without clearing the proper procedures first."

"Is he in trouble?" Nakita asked, feeling a guilty little surge. She shouldn't have let him come with her yesterday to track down the demon she'd forgotten about. Lucky for her Ichigo had showed up in time to save Inoue.

"Nah, it's just protocol," Matsumoto said, unconcerned. "He had a good reason, after all. He'll explain his actions, the Captain-Commander will let him off the hook, and that's that."

"Huh."

"What about you?" Matsumoto asked Nakita. "Any plans for the day?"

She shrugged. "I think I'd better take care of the demon infestation outside Rukongai. They've been stirring since dawn. I don't think they'll stay hidden much longer, and then they'll start attacking souls."

"You'll need some help with that. Is Nakajima out of the 4th Division yet?"

"No. He's awake, but Captain Uohana thinks he should rest for the rest of the day, and I have to agree. His wounds were severe."

"I can help out," Ichigo offered. "I have nothing better to do. Rukia and Renji will come too, if their Captains don't mind."

"Maybe Tōshirō and I can come." Matsumoto brightened. "That would definitely beat doing more paperwork."

"Invite Ikkaku and Yumichika too and it'll be just like old times," Ichigo said with a wry smile.

"I don't think we need that many fighters," Nakita said, knowing that she was missing some sort of joke there, but too tired and grumpy to feel any curiosity. "It's maybe a dozen Class 6 demons. Nothing that four or five Captain and Vice-Captain level Shinigami can't handle easily."

"Can I come too?" Inoue asked hesitantly. "Just in case someone gets hurt. I'll stay out of the way."

Nakita frowned and glanced at Ichigo. He gave a tiny nod. "That's fine, Orihime," she allowed. "Just make sure to stay back from the fighting."

It was a little less than an hour later that they passed through the gates of Seireitei and into Rukongai. The morning sun was shining brightly, casting sharp shadows across the dusty streets and gleaming on the green leaves of trees. There were only a few wispy white clouds dotting the sky, but the wind was sharp and erratic, unseasonably chilly against their skin.

"I don't see why you need my help," Tōshirō muttered as he followed Nakita down another street. The citizens of Rukongai stood aside respectfully, a number of them eyeing Nakita with a hint of fear in their eyes.

"Why not?" Matsumoto asked. "Do you really like paperwork that much?"

He ignored her. "How did overseeing demon hunting become _my_ responsibility?"

"How do _all_ these little projects end up your responsibility?" Renji asked with a bit of a smirk.

Tōshirō muttered something that sounded nasty.

Nakita smiled to herself and picked up the pace to a fast walk. The others fell into step behind her, and they moved quickly through the streets of the huge town. She had seen the town only once before, while tracking a demon that has snuck into Soul Society. At the time, she'd been shocked by how _normal_ it seemed. She'd always expected something more . . . heavenly.

As they reached the outskirts of the town, the houses became fewer and fewer while there were more and more trees. Nakita wished, somewhat uncharitably, that they'd left Inoue behind, seeing as the human girl was incapable of Shunpo. The shockingly bright sun glared in her eyes, and she squinted, feeling a headache take root in her forehead. Great.

She brought the small group to a halt when they came to a large clearing in the trees. They waited quietly while she closed her eyes for moment to invoke her Diviner's Sight. Then she opened them and looked at world of colour that the others couldn't even imagine.

It took her a bare second to identify the dark grey strands that represented the demons hiding in Soul Society. As she focused on them to read the information that made up the twisting smears of colours, the threads pulsed, blurred, and faded. She blinked, staring at the spot in bewilderment. She looked around, squinting for that shade of dark gray that represented a demon in hiding. There were no red or green threads to indicate demons that weren't in hiding either. The colours swirled around her, blurring together.

She pressed a hand to her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut, unexpectedly swamped by a wave of nauseating dizziness.

"Captain Matsuo?" Tōshirō stepped in front of her, peering questioningly at her face. "What's wrong?"

"I . . ." She blinked her Diviner's Sight back again, and her vision filled with a dizzying blur of colour. She couldn't distinguish anything, even the threads of the people standing around her. "I guess I must have pushed myself a little too hard yesterday," she said, her voice lifting unintentionally to make the statement into a question. This had never happened before. "I'm having some trouble focusing."

"Now's not really a good time for distractions," Renji said dryly.

"Not that kind of focus," she snapped. "I meant _visual_ focus. Everything is blurry."

"Maybe you're just tired," Ichigo suggested.

"Maybe." Normally when she was tired, she had trouble isolating different threads to read. She'd never had any trouble with blurring or vanishing strands. It didn't make sense.

"Do you know where the demons are?" Tōshirō asked. "It seems pointless to go back now."

"They're that way," she said, pointing south towards a series of rocky hills. "At least, that's where they were when I checked before we left Seireitei." Her Sight had been working just fine then.

"Well," Ichigo said, "let's check it out anyway, see if the demons pop out and attack us. Can't hurt. But maybe Orihime and Rukia should stay here. Guard our backs, in case the demons loop around."

Rukia nodded, irritation passing across her features, but they all understood that Ichigo didn't want Inoue coming too close to the battle, and he couldn't leave her alone either, not now that they couldn't be sure where the demons were. Nakita ground her teeth together, feeling blind and helpless. And useless.

Ichigo marched towards the hills with Renji and Matsumoto right behind him. Nakita followed, and Tōshirō moved to walk beside her.

"Are you all right?" he asked in an undertone.

"I'm fine," she snapped automatically. Then she grimaced. "I don't know," she corrected, her tone slightly apologetic. "This has never happened before."

They walked in silence for a moment, scanning the foliage. It was bad terrain to be walking into blind; the dips and valleys between the hills were perfect hiding spots, an ambush waiting to happen.

"Could it be a trap?" Tōshirō asked. "Could the demons be interfering with your Sight?"

She shook her head. "There is a spell that can do that, but none of these demons could cast it. It's Bakudō #193, extremely difficult. And my Sight was working just fine in Seireitei. I would have seen it if there was a Class 1 or 2 demon waiting to ambush us. The spell is geographically limited."

"So it would only work within a certain area," he mused.

"Besides, the spell is supposed to wipe a Diviner's Sight completely. I could still see, it was just all blurred."

"Can you see properly now?" he asked.

She checked. "No, still blurry."

They walked in tense silence for a few minutes. The hills rose up around them, rocky and littered with boulders and tufts of sturdy, pale green grass. Ichigo and the others moved in swift, edgy motions. The air felt ominous and chill, but there was no sign of demons yet.

"This is stupid," Nakita muttered. "We should wait until I can track the demons properly."

"If we wait, people might die."

She ground her teeth, unable to argue with that.

Ichigo led them into a little valley, surrounded by outcroppings of rock and a few scraggily trees. The wind whipped through it like whistling ice, and shadows created by the low morning sun stretched across the ground. They came to a stop a little ways in, looking around warily.

"Shouldn't the demons be attacking us?" Ichigo demanded. "Why are they still hiding?"

"I don't know." Nakita's mouth twisted with irritation. She invoked her Diviner's Sight, hoping for some improvement.

Her heart stuttered, her chest constricting. She lifted a hand and stared at it, looking for the twirling, dancing light that contained a plethora of information about her own body. The same light that should have surrounded her comrades. Nothing. No light, no threads, no patterns. No change in her vision at all.

"Nakita?" Tōshirō inquired softly.

"I can't see," she whispered. She lifted horrified eyes to his face. "You were right. It's the spell. It's a trap!"

"Ah, little Kita," called a voice that was so out of place that, for a moment, Nakita couldn't react at all. "I've been telling you for years—you're just too impulsive."

She spun to look at the far end of the little valley. Standing calmly in the open was a tall, dark-haired man who looked about twenty-five. His face was handsome but plain, his build solid but unremarkable. His skin was just a little tanned, his eyes somewhere between green and grey. He was pleasantly unnoticeable, friendly but forgettable. His clothes were simple, a black kosode and hakama like most Hunters—but with bright blue patterning instead of red.

He was the most powerful Diviner of all the Hunters. He was the Diviner-Commander, the Warlord's partner and second in command only to the Warlord himself. He was Nakita's direct superior and the man who had overseen almost all of her training.

"Shoku-sensei," she stammered. "What—what are you doing here?"

Her thoughts were scrambled, her mind working too slow. She couldn't think straight. Shoku shouldn't be here. It was his directive to stay always at the Warlord's side. But the Warlord wasn't here—so why was Shoku?

"Kita, Kita," he sighed. "Patience is the only lesson I failed to teach you. Patience, and discretion." He shook his head, smiling a little. "You always jump in headfirst. Your temper can be a great asset, but it's also your downfall." He lifted his left hand, and a purple glow lit over his palm. He raised the other hand, filled with greenish light. "You had so much potential, little Kita. But you're just too unpredictable to be truly trustworthy."

The purple light flashed, and Shoku's deadly curved sabre manifested in his hand. She stared, uncomprehending for a moment too long. The green light in his other hand flickered, brightened, blinded her. The forbidden teleportation Kidō.

And she knew. She understood. Too late.

Fire ripped through her chest. She looked up at Shoku, now standing immediately in front of her, the hilt of his sabre held in one slim hand, the blade embedded in her chest just above her heart. She hadn't had a chance to even summon Hiren, let alone defend herself. Teleportation was forbidden even for Diviners.

But so was murdering a fellow Hunter.

"So sorry, Kita," he said. There was no remorse in his eyes.

He twisted the sabre, snapping ribs while lining up the curved blade until the tip pointed downwards in a move she'd seen him use countless times. Then he ripped the sabre from her chest, the keen edge tearing through bone and muscle, tearing right through her heart.

Betrayed. The strength drained from body like a broken dam, and Shoku's face, smiling gently, whirled and blurred out of her sight. Betrayed again.

As she dropped into black oblivion, she wished that she could feel something besides bitterness. Something besides rage. Something besides hatred.

Something besides emptiness.

* * *

**. x : X : x .**

******

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**

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

An extra long chapter as advance compensation, because school and work have taken over my life and future updates are going to be coming slower. I'll do my best to get chapters up as I can though.

**

* * *

**

GLOSSARY:

**Sensei** - Teacher.

**Shoku -** Eclipse.


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: **Bleach does not belong to me, but Nakita, Seiko, Saiu, and Shoku do.

* * *

**DEVIL'S SMILE**

* * *

**Chapter 16**

* * *

Rangiku blinked, unsure if she was seeing things right when the tall, dark-haired stranger seemed to appear out of nowhere. Her suspicions were confirmed when Matsuo greeted the man by name.

_Sensei_, Matsuo had called him. Was this man her teacher? Did that make him a Diviner?

Before that, Matsuo had said this was a trap. Something here was a trap. Was he the trap?

Rangiku scanned the surrounding terrain, searching with her eyes and her senses for some sign of the demons she knew were nearby. Where? Where were they hiding? And why hadn't they attacked yet? What were they waiting for? Another cold gust whipped in her face, sucked through the valley like a wind tunnel.

"You had so much potential, little Kita," the stranger—Shoku—was saying. "But you're just too unpredictable to be truly trustworthy."

Rangiku's hand flashed towards her Zanpakutou the moment she saw the sabre form in Shoku's hand. Green light glowed in the man's other hand, and too many things happened all at once.

The green light flashed blindingly. Shoku vanished. A sickening crunch. A shuddering gasp.

Rangiku's head snapped around, and for a moment she couldn't move from shock, couldn't understand what her eyes beheld.

Shoku had his sabre embedded in Matsuo's chest. She stood unarmed and defenceless, staring with unfocused eyes, mouth open in disbelief. Hitsugaya, Ichigo, and Renji were as paralyzed with the suddenness as Rangiku. None of them had seen Shoku move, hadn't had even the faintest notion that he'd crossed the length of the valley. He'd travelled a hundred yards in a bare instant and dealt a killing blow before their eyes could find him again, before any of their senses could register that he was no longer standing at the other end of the valley.

It had taken him an instant. Less than an instant. The moment between one instant and the next.

"So sorry, Kita," Shoku commented in an offhand sort of way.

He twisted his weapon and flexed his arm. The blade tore through Matsuo's ribcage like her bones were paper. Blood sprayed. The light in Matsuo's eyes dimmed, her face going slack, and she started to fall.

With a roar, Ichigo threw himself at Shoku, Zangetsu's blade gleaming as its wrap unwound in a swirl of white. Hitsugaya dove, catching Matsuo before she hit the ground. With one arm around her waist, he drew Hyōrinmaru with the other and dragged her backwards. The young Diviner was limp, her eyes glassy and staring. Blood dribbled from the gaping wound in the center of her chest.

If her heart were beating, the blood would have been gushing, spurting. But instead the wound dribbled like a leaking faucet.

"Howl, _Zabimaru!_" Renji yelled.

Rangiku planted herself in front of her Captain, her hand on Haineko's hilt. Her jaw clenched so tightly that pain shot through her teeth.

Shoku laughed as he dodged his two attackers, not even bothering to parry their strikes. He was too fast. He darted side to side, leading Ichigo and Renji around until they nearly impaled one another.

"_So_ slow," Shoku said with a chortle. "Are you really a Vice-Captain?" He shook his head in mock disappointment. "And the Captain over there doesn't even have the courage to fight me."

Rangiku glanced at Hitsugaya, whose face was contorted with fury, one arm still clutched around Matsuo's middle, his arm stained with her blood.

"She called you _sensei_!" he yelled at Shoku. "How could you do this to your student?"

"It was easy," he said, waving his sabre like a banner. "I stabbed her and sliced her heart in half. You might as well drop her. She's already dead."

Ichigo snarled and charged. Shoku dodged with another derisive snicker.

"Why?" Ichigo demanded. "Why did you do it?"

"Because little Kita was trouble, that's why. She posed a threat to certain plans. Threats are eliminated. She understood that." He smiled widely. "She would have done exactly the same thing, you know. Why are you so upset?"

"Bastard! She's not like you!"

Shoku laughed so hard that Renji almost managed to cut him.

"Not like me?" he called to Ichigo, dancing out of reach of any weapons. "Of course she was, stupid boy. She was exactly like me. I trained her! I trained her to do whatever was necessary, whether that meant deceiving a bunch of foolish Shinigami or murdering her own partner."

"No, she wouldn't have!" Rangiku shouted. "She told me! She told me that she wanted Seiko to ascend from Hell, that she would have died to protect him. She would never have murdered her partner!"

Shoku snorted. "So easily deceived." He peered around her to look at Hitsugaya. "So, Mr. Shinigami Captain, are you going to fight me? Or keep clinging to that piece of dead meat?" He chuckled at his own joke. "You look like a snot-nosed brat, but if you're anything like Kita—well, it might be fun to see what a Shinigami Captain can really do." He flashed a grin at Renji and Ichigo. "Ah, but don't worry, I have some playmates to entertain you two as well!"

Smirking hugely, he whistled a sharp note. A high-pitched, bellowing roar answered immediately, the sound cutting at their ears. A huge, hulking demon lumbered up from one of the gullies surrounding their valley. A moment later, two more. Then another three.

A dozen enormous beasts began closing ranks around them.

"Matsumoto," Hitsugaya barked. "Take her to Inoue. Now!"

She jumped towards him, arms outstretched. Pulling Matsuo's tiny form from him, she cupped the Diviner against her chest, trying to hold the torn body together. Blood soaked into her kosode.

Hitsugaya turned to face Shoku, his expression cold as ice, his eyes burning like blue-green fire.

"Sit upon the frozen heavens, _Hyōrinmaru_."

Rangiku cast one worried glance at her Captain, then flash-stepped, leaving the men to their battle. Matsuo didn't have another second to be wasted. It had been at least three minutes since her heart stopped beating. Could Orihime really save her? By all definitions, she was already a corpse.

"Orihime!" Rangiku cried, landing with a thump beside the human girl and Rukia. "Quickly, Sōten Kisshun!"

She gently laid Matsuo out on the grass. Orihime gasped in horror, but didn't waste any time. She called out her Shun Shun Rikka and set them over the Diviner's lifeless form. Rangiku quickly explained what had happened, and she and Rukia placed themselves on either side of Matsuo and Orihime, swords drawn and ready.

And they waited.

* * *

**. o : O : o .**

* * *

"So are you going to fight me then, Mr. Shinigami Captain?" taunted the man Nakita had called Shoku. Her sensei.

Tōshirō lifted Hyōrinmaru in front of him, teeth gritted. "Who are you, exactly?" he demanded.

"Shoku," he said replied cheerfully. "Ito Shoku." He smirked broadly. "I'm a Diviner, just like dear little Kita _was_."

Rage flashed through Tōshirō at the man's mocking use of past tense. But Shoku didn't know about Inoue's healing abilities. Nakita still had a chance.

"I am Hitsugaya Tōshirō, Captain of the 10th Division," he told the man as was proper. It wasn't right to kill someone without introducing yourself first. He noted that Shoku had left off his rank. Was he a deserter?

Off to one side of them, Ichigo and Renji battled the small horde of monstrous demons. Although they weren't that powerful alone, as a pack the demons were deadly, hurling blasts of power in every direction and tearing through boulders with their massive claws.

"A little young for a Captain," Shoku mused, eyeing him. "But we'll see." He lifted his sabre and grinned. "Ready?"

Shoku lunged forward, closing the twenty-foot gap between them in less than a second. Tōshirō swung Hyōrinmaru, stopping Shoku's sabre before it took off his head.

"Oh, impressive reflexes," Shoku laughed. "But how's your technique?"

He pulled back and struck again. Tōshirō parried, and the contest of swordplay began. Thrust, parry, dodge. Tōshirō slashed Hyōrinmaru again and again, but Shoku danced around every strike. Hyōrinmaru had greater reach than the sabre, but Shoku was blindingly fast—and he kept getting faster.

Tōshirō caught the sabre on his blade, sliding it to the side. Pulling a hand from Hyōrinmaru's hilt, he hooked two fingers around his own crescent-shaped sabre at the base of his sword and flung it in Shoku's face in a practiced, deadly arc.

The Diviner's eyes went wide, and he pulled his sabre around just in time catch the crescent blade on his. It spun around his sabre, wrapping the weapon in chain.

Shoku danced back out of reach, trying to shake the clinging chain off.

"Impressive," he said again, lifting his sabre to look at the chain and crescent. "I see you do know what you're doing. But—"

With a hiss, ice crackled over his sabre, spreading from the chain wrapped around it. Shoku yelped, shaking his blade as ice caked it, forming over his hand. With a snarl, the Diviner hit the ice with some kind of magic that shattered the crystals into dust.

Tōshirō was already in motion, leaping for the distracted Diviner. Shoku whipped his sabre around, forcing Tōshirō to dodge. Slinging the chain off, Shoku slashed with his blade—at the twice the speed he'd been moving before. Tōshirō sprang back with a gasp. The tip of the sabre caught his arm, tearing a shallow gash.

Shoku grinned, showing his teeth. "Fancy little trick, Mr. Captain, but did you really think that was as fast as I could move?"

"Did you think that's the best I can do?" Tōshirō countered, fury burning deep in his chest. He kept it buried, not letting anger cloud his judgement, keeping his mind cool and calm.

He sprang again, feinting to the left and throwing his crescent to tangle around Shoku's legs. But the Diviner was gone. Pain ripped across Tōshirō's shoulder blades, and he spun around, Hyōrinmaru raised, but Shoku slid away.

Damn, he was fast.

With a flick of Hyōrinmaru's blade, Tōshirō sent a wall of ice racing towards the Diviner. As Shoku dodged, Tōshirō sprang for his other side. He slammed his sword into Shoku's sabre. Ice cascaded over the other blade, and high above them, the sky darkened and rumbled as Tōshirō's reiatsu churned the moisture in the sky into dark, heavy clouds.

Skoku twisted his sabre, breaking the ice and jumping back. Baring his teeth, Tōshirō slashed Hyōrinmaru through the air. The great ice dragon erupted from the tip, spiralling towards Shoku.

"Ha!" Shoku sprang back again. "Not good enough, little Captain!" With a twirl of his blade, a wave of purple light swept from the sabre and collided with the ice dragon, evaporating it instantly.

Tōshirō landed lightly across from the Diviner. Snow drifted down between them, hazing the air and dusting the grass with sparkling white.

"Is this the best you can do?" Shoku asked, that little smirk back on his face. "Your ice tricks are cute and all, but I haven't even worked up a sweat." He tilted his head to one side. "You have Bankai. Why aren't you using it?"

"You don't seem to be worth that kind of effort."

Shoku barked a laugh. "Oh? You think? Let me tell you a little secret, kiddie-Captain." He leaned forward and lowered his voice to a false, carrying whisper. "I'm not just any Diviner, boyo. I'm not even just any Diviner-Captain. I'm the Diviner-_Commander_. I outrank you by a thousand years, Mr. Shinigami Captain, and when I get tired of playing, I'm going to cut you into little pieces and feed you to my demons."

A shiver of consternation ran through Tōshirō. A Commander? This man was Commander rank? Was he lying?

He'd trained Nakita. That alone suggested the man was speaking the truth.

"My apologies," Tōshirō said. "I assumed since you hadn't mentioned rank that you didn't have any. It would be rude not to use my Bankai again a Commander."

Shoku smiled, satisfied. He leaned back on his heels, waiting expectantly.

Tōshirō closed his eyes for the briefest moment to gather his concentration. "Bankai," he said softly."_Daiguren Hyōrinmaru_."

Power burned through his body, ice and fire and a wellspring of strength he was only beginning to learn to control. Thunder rumbled overhead as lightning flashed inside the black clouds. The comforting weight of ice formed on his back, sliding down his arms and legs as he joined his power with Hyōrinmaru's. His bond with his Zanpakutō was intimate in a way that other Shinigami didn't understand. He didn't just use Hyōrinmaru—he joined with him.

Shoku smiled, pleased, as his eyes took in Tōshirō's wings of ice. "Impressive. Needlessly flashy, but impressive."

Flashy? Did the Diviner think his wings were just for show?

He pulled in a deep breath of glacial air, letting it slowly slide out of his mouth in a puff of white mist. The sky roiled, dark and angry, as ice thickened over the ground, turning the valley into a frozen, windswept sculpture.

Lifting Hyōrinmaru, he snapped his ice wings out and back, propelling himself forward in a flash of motion. Shoku dodged to the side, and Tōshirō pulled a wing in, slamming it into the other man. Ice chips flew in every direction. His wing reformed even as Shoku skidded across the frozen ground, scrambling for purchase on the slick ice.

Growling, the Diviner jumped into the air, standing safely above the ice. He whipped his sabre in front of him, sending another wave of purple energy hurtling towards Tōshirō.

He sprang with a single beat of his wings, shooting into the air. The purple fire crashed harmlessly into the earth. Tōshirō slashed with Hyōrinmaru. The enormous dragon of ice, Hyōrinmaru's true form, flowed from the blade, detaching itself entirely as it spread its great wings and dove for Shoku.

Tōshirō followed, eyes locked on Shoku. The Diviner lifted his sabre.

"_Sōren Sōkatsui_."

A double burst of blue lightning leaped from his weapon, blasting the ice dragon into shards. Tōshirō shot through the sparkling debris, crashing full into Shoku. With blades crossed, each pressed the other, trying to push his opponent out of the air. Shoku grinned, their faces less than a foot apart.

"As I said, impressive powers, little Captain." His eyes burned with a malevolent glee he no longer bothered to conceal. "Now do you want to see what _I_ can do?" His grin grew. "_Sajo Sabaku_."

Before Tōshirō could even blink, glowing golden chains sprang into existence, coiling around his arms and waist, binding Hyōrinmaru's blade to Shoku's sabre. He wrenched at his sword, trying to pull back from Shoku, but he was tightly ensnared. Trapped.

Shoku's smile melted away, his eyes rolling up as something close to lust filled his face. "_Hiryuge_—" he began breathily.

Tōshirō's eyes widened in horror, panic clenching around his lungs.

"—_kizokushin_—"

He tore frantically at the binding chain, snow and ice swirling madly as he threw all his reiatsu into breaking the spell.

"—_tenraiho_."

The air pulsed, all sound stopping for a bare instant. Then the spell erupted, the massive blast of spiritual energy bursting from Shoku's sabre.

Tōshirō pulled his ice wings around him, flooding the meagre shield with his reiatsu as the blast engulfed him. His ice wings held for a fraction of a second before shattering to dust. Agony ripped through his body, stealing the air from his lungs. It was all he could do to hold his body together, his bones threatening to shatter from the pressure of the explosive band of energy. The world spun, bluish green light lanced his eyes, and everything went dark.

Silence.

He stirred. His body was on fire, every muscle screaming. His ice wings were gone, his Bankai gone, his reiatsu consumed. His ice shield, strengthened by his reiatsu, had blunted the spell just enough to preserve his life, but he'd still taken the blast full on, unable to dodge because of the binding spell. The explosion had engulfed him, the power and pressure tearing at his body even as he used his reiatsu to limit the damage.

Through the haze of pain, he could faintly feel Shoku's reiatsu nearby. Trembling in every limb, he slowly rolled onto his stomach, pushing himself up on hands and knees. His vision blurred in and out, the ice-coated hills doubling and tripling before steadying again.

Stifling a groan of agony, he heaved his beaten body to its feet, using Hyōrinmaru to brace his weight as his legs quivered.

"Hmm," Shoku said. It took Tōshirō a moment to find him, barely able to keep his head up. The Diviner stood with arms crossed, one hip thrust to the side, his sabre dangling casually front his fingers. "I am quite surprised you can stand after that. It may be a Lesser Kidō spell, but Hadō #88 is still one of the most destructive spells there is."

His eyes roamed over Tōshirō, his amusement growing. "Not only I am surprised you took the spell at point blank range and managed not to die, but how are you standing there with those injuries?" He laughed. "I can see why you're a Captain. It would take extraordinary levels of reiatsu to counter the blast as much as you did."

Tōshirō gritted his teeth. With the overwhelming level of pain burning through him, he hadn't noticed the warm wetness of the blood soaking his clothes. The force of the blast had torn his body apart, splitting his skin like a squeezed piece of fruit. He pulled the last vestiges of his reiatsu around his body, trying vainly to slow the bleeding.

Breathing in short, agonized gasps, he focused blurrily on his enemy. "Sit upon . . . the frozen heavens . . . _Hyōrinmaru_."

"Are you really going to try to fight me like that?" Shoku demanded incredulously.

Tōshirō had to breathe in and out several times before he could answer. "I'm not going to lie down and wait for you to kill me," he retorted, his jaw clenched as dizziness spun inside his head.

Shoku nodded. "Admirable. You have a lot more in common with little Kita than I first thought. She would have done the same." His grin returned, even nastier. "It's really too bad you didn't just die from the spell. You're going to suffer so much more now."

Tōshirō tried to make his legs take his weight so he could at least point Hyōrinmaru at Shoku. His knees buckled and he clutched his sword, leaning heavily on it. "Am I?" he whispered. The thawing grass around his feet was stained black with his blood.

"Indeed," Shoku said, strolling closer, almost within striking distance. "You'll make an excellent gift for a demon friend of mine. He loves pure souls with lots of honour. All the more fun to break."

Tōshirō twisted Hyōrinmaru's tip where it was sunk into the ground. A wave of ice exploded towards Shoku.

The blow took him hard in the chest, the sharp new pain accompanied by the crack of snapping ribs. Tōshirō landed hard on his back, head spinning, lungs locked. He hadn't even seen Shoku strike. Hyōrinmaru was wrenched from his hand—Shoku had kicked it away. He fought for air.

The Diviner stood over him, grinning widely. Tōshirō tried to move and couldn't. He had nothing left.

"Ready for a tour of Hell, little Captain?" Shoku asked. "If you ask me _really_ nicely, I might just kill you now. You can be reunited with dear little Kita. Would you like that?"

"If you ask _me_ really nicely," said another voice, "maybe I won't kill you—but I doubt I'd spare a piece of stinking scum like you even if you begged for mercy."

Shoku stumbled back from Tōshirō, his eyes wide with shock. Tōshirō laboriously turned his head to look.

Kurosaki stood with Zangetsu resting on one shoulder, his expression grim. Blood ran down the side of his face, but he seemed mostly unhurt. Over his left arm, shoulder, and cheek, the demon mark glowed, the dark light shifting restlessly against his skin.

"That—that mark," Shoku stammered, taking another step back. "How—when—"

"What does it matter?" Kurosaki said flatly. "The only thing you should be worrying about it is how I'm going to kill you for what you did to Kita and Tōshirō."

"_Captain_ Hitsugaya," Tōshirō corrected hoarsely.

Kurosaki flashed a quick grin, keeping his eyes on Shoku. He lifted his sword off his shoulder, bringing it around in front of him.

"No," Shoku said, his mocking grin gone, his expression cold and mask-like—with a hint of fear lurking in the back of his eyes. "I won't touch _his_ pet. Not—" He shook his head sharply before glancing at Tōshirō. "You're damned lucky that your friend sold his soul to that particular demon, little Captain. And your friend—he's just plain damned."

With a nasty chuckle, he lifted his hand, suddenly filled with green light. There was a blinding flash and he vanished, leaving nothing but the echo of his laughter behind.

* * *

**. x : X : x .**

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

I wonder why Tōshirō is so unfailingly polite to his enemies—or so it's always seemed to me. I can't recall him ever trash-talking his opponents. And why do almost all the Shinigami introduce themselves to their enemies? I know it's supposed to be a courtesy, but it seems to me like a strange thing to do in the middle of a vicious battle to the death. Secretly, I suspect it's just an easy way for the writer(s) to reveal every character's name.

For the curious, the last spell that Shoku hit Tōshirō with was the same one Tessai used on Aizen in the Turn Back the Pendulum arc. The big nasty spell. Poor Shirō-chan. (I ask myself why I keep beating him up so badly, but the answer is obvious: it's just too much fun! ...Heh.)

Lastly, doesn't _anyone_ like the Ichigo-x-Orihime pairing?? I figured it would be about half for them, half for Ichigo-x-Rukia, but most everyone seems to be rooting for Rukia. All I can say is—good thing I was never planning on a strong romantic thread in this story...

* * *

**GLOSSARY**

**Sōren Sōkatsui **("Twin Lotus Blue Fire, Crash Down") – Hadō #63: a Kidō spell that fires a double bolt of concentrated blue energy at the target.

**Sajo Sabaku **("Locking Bondage Stripes") – Bakudō #63: a Kidō spell that creates a long golden chain of energy that entangles the target's arms.

**Hiryugekizokushintenraiho **("Flying Dragon-Striking Heaven-Shaking Thunder Cannon") – Hadō #88: a Kidō spell that fires a giant electricity blast of spiritual energy that results in a highly destructive explosion upon contact with the target.


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: **Bleach does not belong to me, but Matsuo Nakita, Nakajima Seiko, Saiu, and Ito Shoku do.

* * *

**DEVIL'S SMILE**

* * *

**Chapter 17**

* * *

Ichigo leaned in the doorway, watching Seiko scowl at Kita's prone form. The huge demon hunter glowered, trying to hide his concern with fury. He was still wrapped in bandages, though his wounds from the battle with the Class 2 demon were nearly healed now. Rangiku stood beside the second bed out of the four in the room, hands clenched into fists and mouth tight with anger.

"Stay put," she snapped at the occupant of the bed. "You almost _died_. You are going to rest if I have to tie you down!"

Ichigo's eyebrows rose; he'd never heard Rangiku talk to her Captain like that before.

Tōshirō glowered back with unfocused eyes. Even after being healed by Orihime, he wasn't entirely conscious. Ichigo and Renji had been close enough to see what happened. It was nothing short of a miracle that Tōshirō was still alive, let alone even _half_ conscious.

Kita hadn't so much as stirred since Shoku struck her down.

He glanced at the young Diviner. She looked so small and fragile in the large bed, her dark red hair fanned across the pillow. Her face was as pale as the white sheets, the dark tattoo on her cheek standing out in sharp contrast. Orihime's healing reversed damage to clothing too; there was no sign now that just an hour before, Nakita's chest had been cut open.

"Okay, Renji," Orihime said where she sat on the third bed in the room. Renji perched beside her, under the golden glow of her Shun Shun Rikka. She lifted the healing barrier from his arm, mangled by one of the demons and now repaired. "Be careful with it for a few days, and it'll be just fine."

"Thanks," Renji mumbled. He glanced around the crowded room. "Maybe we should leave so Captain Matsuo and Captain Hitsugaya can sleep."

Tōshirō grunted irritably and closed his eyes. With a huff, Rangiku stalked out the room. Seiko hesitated beside Kita's bed, then followed with an even darker scowl. Orihime joined Ichigo in the doorway, looking sadly at the two injured Captains and sighing.

"Come on, Orihime," he said, gesturing. He slid the door shut behind her, leaving Kita and Tōshirō in the dark quiet of the room. It would be days before either of them was fully recovered.

One man had done that. Not even a demon.

He and Orihime joined Seiko, Renji, Matsumoto, and Rukia in an empty room scattered with cushions. Settling himself between Orihime and Rukia, Ichigo tipped his head back and let their voices wash over him, comforted by the presence of so many of his friends. Especially Orihime and Rukia. He could feel the touch of Saiu's magic on him always, crawling beneath his skin. The restful feel of their reiatsu—Orihime's gentle, soothing warmth and Rukia's strong, sharp, but somehow comforting light—helped balance the demon inside him.

"I can't believe it," Seiko said, hunching over with his head in his hands. "Commander Ito trying to kill Kita. She's his star pupil. Damn."

"_Succeeding_ in killing her," Ichigo corrected darkly. "If it weren't for Orihime. . ."

"What are you going to do now?" Rukia asked after a moment.

"I have no idea," Seiko said, tipping his head back to glare at the ceiling. "Tell the Warlord? Shoku rarely acts without the Warlord's prompting. There's way to know if Shoku was acting on his own or not. While the idea of Shoku running around killing people on his own isn't exactly comforting, the idea of the Warlord secretly executing his own Captains is even worse."

"Our Captains too," Rangiku said in a near growl. "Shoku almost managed to kill Captain Hitsugaya too."

Seiko snorted. "He could have killed you all. From what you described, he'd barely warmed up. Shoku is a murderous, back-stabbing bastard ten times over, but he's damn good at what he does. _Maybe_ your senior Captains could take on Shoku and survive, but I suspect only your Captain-Commander would be able to win against him."

Rangiku ran a hand through her hair. "If he could have killed us all, why didn't he? Surely having no witnesses would have been better."

"I imagine that was his plan," Seiko said dryly, "right up until he saw Ichigo's demon mark."

Every pair of eyes turned to Ichigo. He shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know why the mark freaked him out," he told them. "I don't even know why it lit up again like that."

"The presence of demons will always awaken the mark," Seiko explained. "And Shoku backed off because he didn't want to piss off the demon that marked you. By Hell's rules, as long as you're marked, you belong to that demon. Killing you would have been like spitting in the demon's face."

Ichigo scowled. He supposed he should be glad that Saiu's mark had saved them, but he was having trouble feeling properly grateful.

"What I don't get," Seiko continued, "is why Shoku respected the mark at all. As the Warlord's partner, he's hardly in danger from a demon lord. It might cause some friction, but he and the Warlord could easily buy off the demon lord to placate him. Accidents happen, or so Shoku would say. A demon mark is as distinctive as a signature; Shoku must have recognized it, but how? If we don't know of this demon lord, then he shouldn't exist."

"Matsuo isn't sure Ichigo's demon _is_ a demon lord since she doesn't recognize his name," Orihime added quietly.

"He's not _my_ demon," Ichigo muttered, tired of all the casual possessives being thrown around. Saiu didn't belong to him, and he didn't belong to Saiu.

Seiko rubbed his hands over his face. "I remember the good ol' days when the world used to make sense. Like, last week."

Rukia drummed her fingernails on her thigh. "Look at the facts. We have a Diviner-Commander who's frightened by a demon lord's mark when he shouldn't be. We have a demon who appears to be a demon lord but whose name doesn't match any known demon lords. Both a Diviner-Captain and the Diviner-Commander don't think Ichigo's demon is a normal demon lord, so let's assume that he isn't."

"He's _not_ my demon," Ichigo said irritably.

"If he's not a demon lord," Rukia continued, watching Seiko intently, "what is he?"

Seiko stared back for a long moment, then let out a frustrated sigh.

"We have to think outside the box," Rangiku said. "What kinds of demons could _appear_ to be a demon lord when they actually aren't?"

"A Class 2 might be able to create a convincing illusion," Seiko said doubtfully. "But what would be the point? Even if he fooled Ichigo for whatever reason, the name he gave obviously wasn't a demon lord name. Why go to that kind of effort only to give away the deception with something as simple as a name?" He looked at Ichigo. "How certain are you that your demon was higher than the Class 2 you fought?"

"Absolutely certain," he said. There was no comparison at all. Saiu was a thousand miles higher than that Class 2. "And would you quit calling him _my_ demon already?" he added crossly, "His name is Saiu. Why are you all so afraid to call him by name?"

A moment of silence, then Seiko made a wheezing noise, the blood draining visibly from his face.

"Seiko?" Ichigo asked in alarm. "What's wrong?"

"Afraid to call him by name," the Hunter whispered. "It can't be, but it fits. It fits perfectly. God save us, it fits."

"What are you talking about?"

"There _are_ demons that look like demon lords but aren't," Seiko said, his voice hushed, fear in his eyes. "Three of them. Only three. We don't know their names because no one would dare to speak them. Even the demon lords wouldn't dare."

Ichigo's blood suddenly felt like ice in his veins.

"Three brothers," Seiko whispered. "Not demon lords. The demon princes."

Silence hung in the air like an invisible fog. The room felt cold, wintry.

"There are demons that outrank demon lords?" Rukia said softly, her smalls hands balled into tight fists. "Demon _princes_?"

"The three sons of the King of Hell." Seiko shook his head slowly. "No wonder Shoku fled. A prince's mark." He turned horrified eyes to Ichigo. "You _met_ one of the princes of Hell."

He squirmed under the other man's awed stare. "I suppose," he muttered. "What do you know about the demon princes?"

Seiko straightened. "I know it's forbidden on penalty of death to speak of them or their father to anyone outside Hell." His mouth twisted. "But I don't think that rule applies anymore, not when Ichigo has already come face to face with one of the princes." He took a deep breath. "We don't know much about them. The demon lords are basically in charge of everything that goes on in Hell—mainly, keeping all the lesser demons from slaughtering one another or overrunning the human world. The princes are in charge of the demon lords and generally interact only with them. They're the highest authority in Hell with the exception of their father, but the King of Hell doesn't interact with anyone at all, except perhaps his sons, but we don't know anything about it.

"There are three brothers. The eldest brother, called the Judge, lays out the laws that all demons follow, and he's the final authority in disputes. The middle brother is the enforcer of the eldest's laws and judgements, and he's known as the Executioner. I don't know much about the youngest. He's younger by a lot—thousands of years—and as far as I know, he doesn't contribute to the ruling of Hell in any significant way. If he has a title like his brothers, I've never heard it."

"So which brother is the one Ichigo met?" Rukia asked.

They looked at one another.

"He appeared to be young," Ichigo said slowly. "Like a teenager. But that doesn't mean anything, does it?"

"I've never seen the princes," Seiko said. "But Kita has seen the Executioner; he has some contact with the Warlord, since we're involved in enforcing certain demon laws too. Since she didn't recognize your description, that means the demon prince you met has to be eldest or the youngest."

Ichigo's thoughts stalled, locking on to Seiko's comment about the Warlord's contact with the demon prince; he'd been under the impression that Hunters and demons were enemies—and definitely not on speaking terms. Before he could ask, the others were already continuing.

"So now we have three huge problems," Rukia concluded. "Demons attacking Soul Society, the Diviner-Commander trying to kill Matsuo to further his plot, whatever it is, and Ichigo indebted to a demon prince."

"Two problems," Ichigo disagreed, pulling his thoughts back on track. "The demons attacking Soul Society and me being indebted to a demon prince are two parts of the same problem. Saiu came after the demons attacking Seireitei and ended up saving me so I could help him figure out the plot that was behind that attack."

She stared at him. "Or . . . is it just one problem?" she asked slowly.

Ichigo frowned. "How do you work that?"

"Shoku was waiting for Matsuo; he had that spell to block her Diviner's Sight set up in advance. He knew she was coming, which means he set the trap for her. But that's not first time she's nearly died recently, is it? That wasn't the first trap that almost killed her."

Seiko snapped his fingers. "You're right. The Class 3 and the snake-imps. There was a demon lord behind that ambush _and_ the attack on Seireitei. Possibly the same one."

"What are the chances that two unrelated parties—Shoku and a demon lord—would be out to kill Kita at the same time?" Ichigo asked.

Seiko wobbled a hand. "Not impossible. But both parties using demons to lure her in? Pretty unlikely."

"Wouldn't that mean that Shoku and this demon lord are in it together?"

"I'd say that's a definite possibility," Seiko said. "Especially since Shoku was in control of the Class 6 demons that attacked you and Renji."

"Let me see if I have this right," Renji said. "Matsuo is ambushed in an attack ordered by a demon lord. That same demon lord infiltrates Soul Society with demon spies, and then brings in a small army to—wipe out all the Captains? Using the same demons that infiltrated Soul Society, the Diviner-Commander, possibly in cahoots with this demon lord, lures Matsuo into another trap and tries to kill her since the first ambush failed?"

"I think we're missing something," Rangiku said dryly.

"I think we're missing a lot of something." Ichigo rubbed a hand over his hair. "We know for sure that this demon lord _and_ Shoku want Kita dead, either for the same plot or for different ones. Why? Why is she such a threat?"

They all looked at Seiko. He shrugged. "She's a Diviner-Captain; that automatically means she's one of the strongest Diviners among the Hunters. I'm pretty sure that no one's attempted to kill all the other Diviner-Captains, so it must be something specific to Kita that's . . ." He trailed off, frowning silently for a long moment. "Nakita's former Captain, the one she replaced. That Captain died under suspicious circumstances."

Ichigo tensed. "Have any other Diviners died recently?"

"Diviners—_and_ Slayers—die a lot. It comes with the territory. But there _have_ been more deaths than usual lately. In the last two years, we've lost our top six Diviners, with the exception of Shoku. Kita was muttering about it a few months ago, because she wanted to ask an experienced Diviner about some high level spell and the only one she could ask was Shoku, because they weren't any Diviners left with that degree of skill."

Ichigo exchanged a worried look with Rukia. "So someone—probably Shoku—has been killing off the most powerful Diviners?"

Seiko shifted, flexing his arms. "Not necessarily. It wouldn't be the first time we've lost a lot of Diviners in a short period of time. They're the greater threat, so demons go after them first. Plus, there's about one Diviner for every thirty or so Slayers, so it's not like there are tons of Diviners in the first place."

"Considering everything that's happened recently, I think we need to consider the possibility that Shoku—or someone—is eliminating powerful Diviners for a reason," Ichigo said.

"What reason?" Rangiku asked.

"For their Diviner's Sight?" Ichigo mused aloud.

Seiko shook his head. "Powerful Sight just means the Diviner can find things faster—not better. If this person wanted to prevent a Diviner from using her Sight to see something he was hiding, he'd have to kill every Diviner."

"So what else makes a Diviner extra powerful?"

"Kidō," Seiko answered without hesitation. He briefly explained about Lesser and Greater Kidō, and how only the best Diviners could cast the highest spells. "I don't know if Kita is that talented, but she has the potential."

"So Shoku doesn't want any Kidō competition?" Rangiku suggested. "But how does that fit in with the demon attack on Seireitei?"

"How does any of it fit together?" Ichigo wondered, frustration leaving a bitter taste on his tongue.

Silence filled the room. There were no answers.

* * *

**. o : O : o .**

* * *

It was raining again.

He stood on the flat top of the tower, his preferred spot from which to observe his world, the barren landscape of Hell. The cool trickle of water sliding down his skin was pleasant, a gentle distraction from the worries that were never far from his mind now. With so many thoughts demanding his attention, any moment of solitude was welcome.

With that in mind, he continued to ignore the presence behind him that waited to be acknowledged with ill-concealed annoyance.

"No greeting for your big brother, Saiu?"

Patience had never been his brother's strength. Saiu would have smiled at his small victory—forcing his brother to speak first—if not for the sharp pain that dug into his skull as the more powerful demon spoke. His brother had no concept of subtlety. How foolish to think that using his untempered voice to cause Saiu pain would in any way win him this confrontation.

"Polite greetings have never been our habit," he replied quietly. "Have you lessoned in courtesy since our last meeting?"

His brother growled quietly.

"What do you want, Aranami?" Saiu asked bluntly.

"Perhaps consideration has too long been absent in our dealings, little brother," Aranami said, this time in a gentle, painless tone. "Can I not visit my brother for his company and nothing more?"

Knowing his sibling could see naught but his back, Saiu rolled his eyes—a human gesture he found quite effective. "If ever you extended an effort without gain to yourself, I would know you for an imposter, brother. What is it you desire of me?"

Aranami hovered silently, radiating cold irritation. "You speak of courtesy, yet you have not the manners to face me, your brother, when you speak."

Saiu hid his satisfaction. Again, he had forced his brother's hand: Aranami had not been able to make his little brother face him without a direct demand. It was these small victories that kept him alive in the face of his elder brother's resentful hatred; it was these small victories that fed the seed of doubt in Aranami. Unless he felt sure of his superiority, Aranami would not cross the line from which he could never return—for he knew if he tried to kill Saiu and failed, he would face the bitter consequences with no gain whatsoever. Therefore, he would wait as long as necessary to be sure of the kill. As long as Saiu could keep Aranami off balance, he would live another day.

He turned to face his brother, casting a quick, dismissive glance over the familiar form of the third most powerful demon in all of Hell. Aranami was taller than Saiu by more than a head, and outweighed him by a hundred pounds of muscle. He was built like a bull, thick and powerful. His black hair fell down past his hips, pulled into a thick, heavy braid, and his bull-like horns rose above his head. In his face could be seen the subtlest but most important difference between the brothers: Aranami's face was a mask of hard, lifeless planes, where the only spark was that of the impotent hate and rage in his blood-red eyes.

"Why are you here?" Saiu asked, seeking for the third time Aranami's motive behind this 'visit'.

Aranami crossed his bulky arms across his black-armoured chest. "I've heard interesting rumours of late. You left Hell, did you not?"

"I did."

"Why?"

"It was but a matter of discipline. My esteemed brother was most certainly too entangled in his many duties, so I stepped in."

Another growl slipped from Aranami's throat. Saiu's insinuation that Aranami was not doing his job—enforcing their laws—was too subtle for him to call Saiu on. But Aranami felt the barb nonetheless.

"I should have you flayed," the older demon snarled. "Or perhaps I should tear out your impudent tongue, mewling brat."

Saiu lifted his eyebrows. "On what charge am I to be punished?"

"Kikisemaru was my loyal servant. You killed him."

"Did I? Who might Kikisemaru have been?"

"The young son of Lord Chizome. How am I to explain his son's murder at the hands of my own brother?"

"Ah," Saiu said. "Kikisemaru was _that_ one. Am to understand that you defend the actions of Kikisemaru? I do not think I am mistaken in believing that he flaunted our laws by leading a small force of demons out of Hell . . . and into none other than Seireitei, the forbidden city of the Shinigami. You condemn _me_ for serving our laws with his execution when he was the one who so blatantly broke them?"

Aranami froze, caught in Saiu's trap of words. He could not punish Saiu without condoning Kikisemaru's treachery. Saiu watched Aranami struggle to find a loophole. His brother might be ten thousand years older, but that couldn't alter the fact that he was not gifted with a strategic mind.

Saiu adopted an expression of vague dismay. "Lord Chizome is also a servant of yours, is he not? How thoughtless of me. I can most certainly speak to Chizome in your stead and explain matters pertaining to Kikisemaru's death. I would not trouble you with such a delicate task."

Aranami's jaw clenched at the multitude of small insults buried in those few sentences. "No," he barked. "It is not your business."

"As you wish," Saiu said complacently. He had to be careful not to push his brother too far. He waited.

Aranami cooled his temper, and cunning sparked in his eyes. If a bull were capable of such a thing as cunning.

"As you know, rumours of all kind abide among our breed," Aranami said in a friendly voice, returning to his previous segue. "I've heard much your doings."

"Is that so?" Saiu murmured, feeling a moment of wariness.

"I heard even that you stole a Shinigami and secreted it away in your rooms, forbidding all your servants and vassals entrance while it was there."

Saiu hesitated, but could see no way to deny it. "It would appear so."

Aranami smiled, an expression of malicious pleasure. "I'm sure you know that our dear brother Shiose does not like us stealing from Soul Society. If a soul wanders into our grasp, then so be it, but to whisk a Shinigami from their very city? Shiose will be most displeased that you would draw their attention in such a bold way. You must be aware that he prefers we stay far from Soul Society's thoughts."

"Again, I am afraid it is to Kikisemaru that we must look for such perfidy. It was he who stole the Shinigami, and it was I who took it from him as he arrived back in Hell."

"Yet you would be implicated in such a crime, just as he, would you not?" Aranami said, triumph lighting his face. "Perhaps Kikisemaru made the actual theft, but you enjoyed the fruits of his crime, knowing full well the reality of your choice."

"That would be true," Saiu said, "if I had 'enjoyed' the Shinigami as you seem to think I did—and indeed, it would have been a pleasure, for such a pure soul I have never encountered in our realm. Fortunately, I did nothing to the human."

"Nothing?" Aranami repeated in flat tones of disbelief.

"I visited the Shinigami no harm," Saiu clarified. "I did, in fact, return him to his own world."

Aranami's eyes bulged. "You did _what_?"

Saiu understood Aranami's chagrin. To throw away the precious delicacy that was a pure soul was like a man in a desert pouring his only water into the sand. It was a crime to steal a Shinigami from Soul Society—though in the human world, they were fair game—but Saiu could think of no demon who would not keep the soul and accept the punishment that would come.

Except him. But then, had the situation been different, Saiu too would have kept the Shinigami for himself. Demons were not known for their obedience.

"I sent the Shinigami back," Saiu repeated, then added, "I marked him first."

Aranami's eyes narrowed. "You've taken a Shinigami as a pet?"

Saiu examined the claws on one hand, delaying his reply. "I did," he said finally. "It seemed prudent. Kikisemaru's folly has already drawn Seireitei's attention beyond salvaging, an event which Shiose has long wished to avoid. I thought it would be useful to monitor the situation."

"Is that so?" Aranami said carefully.

"Yes." He studied the claws on his other hand. "As you know, it is not my prerogative to involve myself outside of Hell; I find I am regretting my impulsive decision regarding the Shinigami. It is tedious to monitor a human, and I have been lax in my observations."

Aranami was silent for a moment. "Hmph, well, you shouldn't worry yourself about Soul Society, little brother. I'm aware of the situation."

"I did wonder if I should speak to Shiose of Kikisemaru's offence."

"No," Aranami answered quickly. "I've been keeping him informed of all developments. Don't waste our elder bother's time. He has many duties."

Saiu nodded. "Was that all of which you wished to speak?"

Aranami nodded, eyes drifting towards the stairs that would take him out of the quiet rain. "I will make sure you are aware of the situation with Soul Society as well. There is no need for you to investigate on your own. I'm sure you would prefer to spend your time elsewhere."

Without offering a farewell, Aranami turned on his heel and marched off the rooftop balcony, vanishing into the dark stairwell. Saiu watched him go, and waited long minutes after the lingering sense of his presence had faded entirely. Just to be sure.

Saiu flexed his hand, unsheathing the long claws at the end of each finger. How he longed to tear those claws across Aranami's treacherous face.

Instead, he relaxed his fingers, allowing the claws to retract. To attack Aranami would be as senseless as hurling himself from the tower top; he had no hope of defeating his older, stronger, faster brother in a physical fight. In truth, he had no way of ever ridding himself of Aranami, of the constant threat that one day the older demon prince would find the courage to eliminate his younger brother.

However, that he could not win the war did not mean he would concede every battle.

He turned to watch the rain-hazed mountains, his thoughts travelling even farther than those distant peaks. Aranami had always dabbled on the edge of treason; Saiu was well aware of his brother's ambitions to be the one and only demon prince, heir to the realm of Hell and an undisputed power second only to his father.

This latest bid for power had been years in the making, and Aranami was treading very carefully indeed. Saiu didn't know from which direction the next move would come, and he didn't know how to counter it. He couldn't outright oppose his brother, yet he had to find some way to block Aranami and unravel his plot. Aranami had used Kikisemaru, and was certainly using Lord Chizome, but Saiu could not kill Chizome without due cause, or Aranami would demand blood payment. So Saiu would wait for the right moment to act.

And while he waited, he would watch. Already, he had learned much from his newest tool.

Kurosaki Ichigo. A living human and Shinigami both. Ichigo was like a great spider web, a binding connection between so many people and places. Humans, Shinigami, and—unexpectedly—Hunters. Ichigo's threads entangled all of them, and now Saiu was the spider in the center of that web, aware of every strand and drawing them all in closer.

Did Ichigo's Diviner companion know that Saiu's demon mark did more than label Ichigo as property? Did she know that through the magic in the mark, Saiu could see all that Ichigo saw? Already he had watched the Diviner struck down by her Commander, had seen the miraculous healing done by a human girl.

And now he had confirmation that he'd been right to avoid involving the Hunters in his cautious investigation. There were traitors in their midst, yet how far the betrayal had spread, he could not tell. That Aranami had not known that Saiu had marked and released Ichigo suggested that the Diviner-Commander was playing a dangerous game of his own. Time would tell if the two traitors were working as one. Until then, he could only watch.

Ichigo was his eyes and ears in Soul Society. And now Aranami knew that. Saiu had downplayed his interest in Ichigo as much as he could, but he had no doubt that Aranami did not want Saiu aware of anything happening in Soul Society—because, more importantly, he did not want Shiose aware. Aranami was twice the fool if he thought Saiu believed that Aranami was informing Shiose of the situation there. And Saiu would be thrice the fool if he thought for even a moment that Aranami would not immediately turn all his formidable resources to destroying Ichigo.

Somehow, all of it tied into Aranami's plot for Shiose's power. The demon attack in Seireitei, the betrayal of an unknown number of Hunters, the deaths of the powerful Diviners—somehow, they all tied in together.

If only he could see how.

"Walk softly, Ichigo," he whispered to the rain. "I need your eyes still. Walk softly."

* * *

**. x : X : x .**

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

I was pleasantly surprised to receive 10 lovely reviews within 24 hours of posting the last chapter—especially since last chapter was 2 weeks late by my usual standards! (That's in comparison to 3 to 6 reviews per chapter previously.)

Logic would suggest that the extra long wait made everyone eager for a new chapter and therefore more inclined to review. Thus, logically, you'd think I would wait 3 weeks between chapters again so I could get even more reviews. A brilliant idea! ...Except I'm not that logical. The extra reviews just made me more eager to post a new chapter! So here it is, exactly on time! (And an extra long chapter to boot.)

On a side note, a reviewer requested that I post an update every week if the chapter is coming late. Unfortunately, it's against FFnet's rules to post a chapter that is solely Author's Note content. However, I have a "story status" section on my profile page that I normally neglect shamelessly, but if I know a chapter will not be arriving for another week or more, I will indicate as much on my profile. Another option: With a free member's account on FFnet, you can sign up for "Author Alerts" or "Story Alerts", and FFnet will automatically send you an email when I update the story.

* * *

**GLOSSARY:**

**Aranami** - Literally "stormy seas".

**Kikisemaru** - Literally "bloodcurdling".

**Chizome** - Literally "bloodstained".

**Shiose** - Literally "sea current".


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: **Bleach does not belong to me, but Nakita, Seiko, Saiu, Shoku, and Aranami do.

* * *

**DEVIL'S SMILE**

* * *

**Chapter 18**

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Tōshirō watched the stripes of shadow and light inch across the ceiling. The sunlight leaking through the slatted cover on the window beside his bed were his only means of judging time; by the angle, he guessed it was early evening, with the sun hanging low on the western horizon.

His eyelids were heavy with fatigue, his body weighed down by the weary, bone-deep ache that even Inoue's magic hadn't been able to heal. It would take days for that pain to fade, and days more for his strength to fully replenish itself.

He'd been spending a lot of time in bed recovering lately. It was starting to become embarrassing.

Clenching and unclenching his jaw, he fought down a wave of furious shame. He could not deny his utter defeat at Shoku's hands. That Shoku was a Commander and far outranked him made no difference. That Shoku was faster and more experienced made no difference. That Shoku could wield the Shinigami's most devastating Kidō with an ease that put Soul Society's Kidō Corps to disgrace made no difference. He had lost.

He had made a stupid mistake. He'd seen firsthand how quickly and effectively Nakita could use Kidō magic; he should have known better than to place himself in a position where he couldn't evade if Shoku fell back on Kidō. He should have a kept a safe distance.

His mouth twisted into frown. By the same token, Shoku's superior speed meant that the only way Tōshirō could have landed an attack was to get close enough so that Shoku had no time to dodge. In a battle where your opponent was superior, you had to take risks to win. He'd taken a risk, and paid for it.

He rocked his head back and forth on the pillow, but stopped quickly when his skull throbbed in protest. Everyone had a weakness, but he'd failed to find Shoku's in time. That was why he'd lost. The price of his failure was a heavy burden, and he didn't measure that price by his own pain or shame. He looked to his right, eyes falling on the bed beside his.

Nakita had rolled onto her side at some point during the long afternoon while he'd slept. Although she hadn't woken yet, he was glad to see this small sign of life. Her back was to him, her long hair tumbled across the pillow like spilled wine. He watched her shoulders shift with each slow breath she took.

Her own Commander, her sensei, had killed her. He'd run her through, cut her chest open, and left her for dead. He'd taken her life without giving her the barest chance to defend herself. Shoku had no honour. Tōshirō's stomach twisted uncomfortably as he thanked whatever luck or fate had arranged for Inoue to be so close at hand with her unsurpassed healing abilities. The thought of what might have happened otherwise made him shudder.

He was surprised by the strength of his relief. Nakita was little more than a stranger, yet he felt an intangible connection between them, one of shared experiences and understanding. A burgeoning friendship, new and tentative but with an unexpected strength to it. At the same time, he was relieved for reasons that weren't personal in the slightest. Nakita was the Gotei 13's only connection to the world of demons, and right now they couldn't afford to lose her skills and knowledge. They may have survived one demon attack, but he doubted it would be the last. They needed her.

Heaving a slow sigh, he carefully pushed himself up. Shifting his legs over the side of the bed, he began a methodical inventory of his physical condition, flexing and stretching muscles and joints one at a time. He grimaced frequently at the sharp stabs of pain and deeper, throbbing aches, feeling no need to monitor his expression. There was no one to see if he felt like making faces at his discomfort.

Stretches complete, he slid off the bed and stood, testing his weight carefully before stepping away from the support of the bed. His legs felt frustratingly wobbly, but a little walking should steady them. He straightened his clothes—white shitagi and black hakama, both fresh garments. His tattered, bloody Captain's haori was folded and sitting on the foot of his bed. He wasn't sure the garment could be salvaged at all. The Kidō blast had nearly disintegrated it.

His stomach tightened with hunger, the main reason he was abandoning the comfort of the bed and lure of more sleep. He could use the sleep, but he needed fuel to heal. The 4th Division healers were probably going to lecture him on leaving his bed so soon—but then, they should have brought him a meal if they wanted him to stay put.

As he took a step towards the door, he looked at Kita, still and silent in the bed. If he was starved, so would she be. Turning back around, he shuffled to the side of her bed, peering down at her with a small frown, wondering if he should try to wake her. Would she prefer to sleep? She would be in need of food as much as him.

He leaned over the bed, trying to see her face to gauge how deeply she asleep. As his shadow fell across her, she stirred, a shiver running through her body.

"Nakita?" he asked softly.

She jerked up so fast he backpedalled. She whirled, sending the blankets flying. He caught one glimpse of her face—contorted with unbridled hate—before her hand swung towards him. He snapped his chin down at the last second so her hand clamped on his chin instead of his throat. She sliced her other hand through the air, aiming to strike the side of his neck with the bony edge of her hand—a killing blow.

He caught her wrist, using her momentum to jerk her forwards into him. She snarled, releasing his chin and going for his eyes with fingers curled into claws.

He swore, snatching her other hand, but she somehow twisted the grip so she had his wrist instead, her nails digging in painfully.

"Nakita!" he yelled. "Stop it!"

She either didn't hear him or ignored him. Teeth bared, she yanked him off balance and wrenched him around. His legs hit the side of the bed and buckled, too weak to hold him. He fell back and she launched herself at him.

For a moment, their eyes locked. Hers were blank, empty pools of purple that burned with a hate so deep and consuming that he could see no sign of the woman he knew. There was no recognition in her eyes—she saw only an enemy.

Before her fingernails could reach his face, he grabbed her wrists, at the same time pulling up a leg and planting his foot on her stomach. With a grunt of effort, he catapulted her over his head. She sailed over the bed and hit the floor with a painful thump, knocking a small table to crash onto its side. He scrambled up and dove over the bed after her.

He tried to pin her, but she scrambled away, twisting like an acrobat. They rolled across the floor until they hit the wall. By luck or skill, he managed to get her under him. Using his body weight, he pressed her into the floor, capturing her wrists to hold her arms down.

She writhed and snarled like an animal, panic mixing with the loathing in her face.

"Nakita! Nakita, calm down!" He repeated her name over and over until she stopped fighting him, her chest heaving and face still twisted.

He waited silently as the hate in her eyes slowly faded, revealing something worse beneath it: a bitter, burning anguish that raked across his heart. What could have put that look in her eyes?

"Toshiro?" she mumbled.

"Yes," he said, working to keep his voice calm and soothing. "We're in a healing room at the 4th Division."

"We're—" Her eyes darted past him, skimming around the room. Her face paled, then reddened with an embarrassed blush as her gaze returned to him. "Oh," she finally said, looking away as her blush deepened.

Deciding she was once again aware and in control of herself, he released her arms and rolled off her. Huffing out a breath, he leaned back against the bed behind him, too weary to get up off the floor.

She pushed herself up more slowly, avoiding his gaze. She leaned back against the wall, pulling her legs up in front of her—a move he knew she used when she was feeling vulnerable and upset. She tugged at the hem of the white shitagi she was wearing, pulling it over more of her thighs.

And he noticed for the first time that she was wearing nothing but the oversized shitagi and red, knee-high tabi. She looked odd out of her exotic black and red garb.

Warmth rose in his cheeks as well, and his eyes searched the room for something safer to look at.

"Tōshirō," she said in that same low mumble. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to . . ."

"Don't worry about it," he said. "The last thing you must remember is getting stabbed through the heart—it's understandable that you'd wake up fighting."

She made a quiet sound of agreement and he risked a glance at her. She was glaring miserably at the floor, arms wrapped tightly around her knees, hands clenched into fists.

"Did I hurt you?" she asked in a small voice.

"No," he said, which was not entirely truthful. Her fists and knees had connected enough times to bruise, and her fingernails had raked his forearm, leaving four bloody tracks. But compared to the leftover aches and pains from his battle with Shoku, he barely noticed that small amount of additional pain. "How do you feel?" he asked.

"Sore and tired," she said with a sigh. "But . . ." She unclenched her arms and pressed both hands to her chest where Shoku's sabre had torn through her. "Didn't—?"

"Yes," he said, suppressing the rage that burned in his stomach at the reminder of Shoku's unforgivable actions. "Inoue's healing talents go above and beyond what even the strongest Kidō can achieve."

"Indeed," she agreed, a little breathless as awe shone in her expression. She glanced around at the mess they'd made of the room, and embarrassment tightened her face again. She uncoiled from her corner and struggled to stand.

Tōshirō rose quickly, stifling a grunt of pain, and helped her to her feet. She tried to reach for the fallen table, but he pushed and prodded her back to her bed. She straightened the blankets while he righted the table and picked up the assortment of healing tools that had scattered across the floor.

She sat down on the bed on top of the covers and curled up again, shivering a little. He came to stand a pace away, frowning worriedly.

"You should lie down," he said before remembering how much being told to rest annoyed him. He went on quickly. "I was about to go for food. Are you hungry?"

She shook her head, and judging from the almost translucent pallor of her skin that her blushes had left behind, she might not be able to keep any food down.

He shifted his weight, unsure he wanted to leave her alone when she looked so . . . scared. "Do you need anything?" he asked hesitantly.

She shook her head again.

He didn't make a habit of pressing people; he believed that if someone needed help, they would ask when they were ready. Against his better judgement, he moved a half-step closer and asked, "Nakita? Are you sure you're all right?"

She pulled in a deep shaky breath and let it out slowly. "I'm sorry I attacked you," she said stiffly, avoiding his eyes. "I was—I didn't realize what I was doing."

"It's fine," he assured her, eyes narrowing as he surveyed her. He waited a moment, letting his thoughts churn and settle. "Who did you think you were attacking?"

She started, snapping her eyes to his and away. "Not so much who as . . . where. And when." Tension clenched her body, and she sat rigidly. Each breath she took was fast and sharp, and he wondered what memories she was trying to escape.

He waited, holding himself still as she fought again for control.

After a minute, she glanced at him with blind hate and bitter rage in her eyes before turning away, shifting around on the bed until her back was to him. He didn't move, trying not to analyze how deeply her look had cut him.

"The last time someone betrayed me," she said in a voice so harsh it held no resemblance to the soft, melodic tones she usually spoke in, "I killed him. And I killed every one of them who had hurt me, because of him. I hurt them back, and then I killed them. I'm not sorry I did it." She paused. "That's why I went to Hell."

He pulled in a slow breath and exhaled just as slow. She was talking about her life before death. About when she'd been alive.

"In Soul Society," he said carefully, "most souls forget their former lives after a few years, in order to move on."

"It is the same with the damned," she said, still sitting so stiffly, still keeping her back to him. "Unless you don't let yourself forget. Unless you go over your memories again and again until you can never forget."

He hesitated, then sat down on the bed beside her, facing the opposite wall as her. He left most of the length of the bed between them. "Why didn't you let yourself forget?" he asked quietly, making no demands for an answer.

"For the same reason I did this," she said in a low, pained voice.

He glanced at her and saw that she'd pressed her fingers to the black tattoo on her cheek. The low sun peeking through the slatted window cast harsh shadows across her face, and for the first time he noticed the imperfection in the skin beneath the black markings. The tattoo covered a ragged scar.

"So I would never let myself be used again," she finished, dropping her hand and staring straight ahead. "But it wasn't enough. I was used again. Shoku." She spat her sensei's name with a viciousness that made him wince.

"How did he use you?"

"I was his pawn. A malleable, trusting replacement for my former Captain. I wasn't—I never even _suspected_ he might be behind her death, or the deaths of the other strong Diviners over the last two years. Not until he put his weapon into my heart and it was too late did I see the truth. I'm as blind now as I was in life."

He sat quietly for a moment, processing all the implications of Shoku's actions. Finally, he shook his head. "You weren't blind. We trust in our Commanders and fellow Captains the way our squads trust in us. Shoku was devious; you had no reason not to trust him."

"Trust is for fools," she said flatly. "I trusted once, and that path led me to Hell."

Silence descended on them, and Tōshirō didn't know how to break it. Her wounds were deep, but she wouldn't accept comfort from him even if he'd had any idea how to comfort her. Her pain scraped at him, but he couldn't help her. She didn't want help.

"You're bleeding," she said suddenly.

He looked up. Her eyes were on his arm and the tracks her nails had left in his skin, her face flushed and guilty. She shuffled on her knees across the bed, settling beside him, still facing in the opposite direction to better avoid his gaze. She took his arm in gentle fingers and wiped the blood away with her sleeve.

He didn't want to pull his arm away, but the angle was bending his shoulder uncomfortably. He scooted backwards a half foot. Now they sat facing opposite ends of the room, but able to see one another at the same time. She didn't move away from him, but her eyes evaded his face.

"What happened?" he asked in a soft voice. "In your last life?"

Her fingers clenched around his wrists, and he wondered if she'd forgotten she still had his arm in her lap. She was silent for a long moment, and he didn't think she would answer.

"My mother and father didn't get along," she began in a near whisper, staring at the wall. "Their parents pushed them together; it wasn't quite an arranged marriage, but close. My mother escaped her unhappiness by working as much as possible and staying away from home as much as possible. My father escaped by drinking himself senseless every night. They were both too busy hating each other and themselves to have time for me.

"My father had a brother, younger by about five years. He was the only uncle I had, and he doted on me whenever he came to visit. He brought me presents and took me out of the house to do fun things. He listened to me, to all my childish thoughts and worries and dreams. I loved him more than I loved my parents. I worshipped him. He was my life preserver in the stormy ocean of my life. The current still carried me where it would, but he kept me from drowning.

"Even as a child, I had a bad temper. My parents were the poorest kinds of role model, and I couldn't make friends at school. I had no one but my uncle. He was my only fulfilling relationship; I suppose I was emotionally dependent on him the way very small children are emotionally dependent on their parents. I lived for his praise.

"He came to see me more and more as I got older, and I started visiting his house too. When I was thirteen, I left my parents' home for good and moved in with my uncle. All I wanted was for him to be my father, to be my family. I wanted 'home' to be a place where I could be content and comfortable and safe. For a few months, I had everything I'd ever wanted. I was happy.

"My uncle had a number of male friends his own age. They came to visit quite frequently, and they watched me. I was a silly thirteen-year-old. I was flattered by their attention. I felt pretty. Maybe I was pretty, I don't know. But they watched me, and I enjoyed it because they didn't stare at my hair or my eyes and call me names behind my back like the kids at school.

"I was in my room, reading a book while my uncle and one of his friends played cards in the dining room. They were laughing and joking and drinking, but they did that every Friday night. Then my uncle knocked on my door and came in. He was a little drunk, but he never shouted or hit me like my father had.

"He sat down on my bed and said there was something very important that he needed me to do for him. He said he owed his friend lots of money and he was going to get in trouble if I didn't do this one thing for his friend. It was really, really important, and if I did it for him, everything would be okay again and we could keep being a family."

Her fingers clenched like vices around his arm, and her shoulders hunched forward with the weight of memories. Her breath came sharp and fast, and for a long minute she said nothing.

"I didn't want to let my uncle down," she whispered. "I did as he asked.

"For a few weeks, everything was fine again. But my uncle liked to gamble and now they knew . . . they all knew . . . So they played for more and more money, and my uncle lost again. He came to ask me if I would help him again, if I would save us so we could still be a family."

Tōshirō fought to focus on her words through the haze of red, fought to control the fury that seared him. She went on, her sightless eyes oblivious to his reaction.

"For six months, he gambled and lost and I paid his debt for him. For six months, I tried to convince myself I was doing the right thing, that he wouldn't ask me if it wasn't so important, that it was all okay. But—but I couldn't do it anymore. So I told him that he couldn't gamble anymore, because it hurt me so much to . . . I was so sure he would understand, that he loved me and he wouldn't make me do something that hurt me.

"He hit me. He hit me so hard we had to go to the hospital so they could stitch up my cheek. He told them that I'd fallen on the stairs. And he told me that I would do as I was told, because he was my elder and how dare I disrespect him by refusing.

"We went home and he said that his friend was coming that night, and I would be a good girl and do as I was told. When his friend came, I just—I couldn't. I cried and I screamed and his friend hit me and my uncle hit me and they told me to do as I was told. I couldn't understand why my uncle would do such a thing. Didn't he love me? I loved him and would do anything for him. But he was hurting me.

"And then something inside me broke. The part of me that loved him and would do anything for him shattered. I wouldn't sacrifice myself for him, for someone who hurt me, who asked me to do something that hurt me. I'd trusted him with my life and my happiness and the love of a child with no family, and he'd betrayed me. I hated him."

The trembling whisper of her voice changed, turning flat and hard with a cruel satisfaction. "I escaped them and ran into the kitchen. And I took the big knife from the drawer and when they ran in after me, I stabbed them until they died. They weren't expecting it. It was easy.

"I ran away from home. It took me a long time to find all my uncle's other friends, all the ones who had demanded my body in payment for my uncle's debts. And I killed them too. I cut them and watched them bleed until they died.

"I died two years later, in a psychiatric hospital where the judge sent me after the police caught up with me. They thought I was crazy. Maybe I was. Maybe I am."

When she said no more, he fought down the rage so he could speak. "And you were sent to Hell for avenging yourself on the men who hurt you?"

"I didn't kill them for justice, for payment of their crimes, for my pride or honour, or to stop them from hurting anyone else. I killed them for pleasure, for pure, petty revenge. I killed them to hurt them, to relieve my own pain. I killed them without thought or mercy or conscience. I sought no purpose in their deaths except to see their blood spill for my pleasure. That they were horrible, depraved men made no difference. It was the intent behind my deeds that earned me damnation; I thirsted for their blood and pain with the mindless violence of a demon, so the damned I became."

She touched the scrapes on his arm. "Can't you see why I belong in Hell? When you woke me, I was that person again. If I hadn't been so weak from my injuries, I would have laughed as I ripped your heart from your chest and felt not a moment of remorse . . . just like Shoku."

He looked at the angry red marks on his skin, at her gentle hands cupping his arm. He snorted. "Liar."

She stiffened. "What?"

"Do you really think I believe that? You keep telling yourself that you're evil so you don't have to face the truth. Maybe you would have killed me with no guilt when you were lost in the pain and memories, but I don't believe for a moment that you would have felt nothing when you returned to yourself. Are you not the same woman who wept for Kurosaki when we thought him lost in Hell? Are you not the same woman who rushed to the living world to save complete strangers from the snake-imp? That's not a Hunter doing her duty; those are the actions of someone who values every precious moment of life, her own and others."

She was silent for a full minute. "Perhaps," she said, her voice empty of emotion. "But who I am now doesn't change anything. I will always be damned because I will never regret the crimes I committed in life. I am not sorry for what I did. Unless I can find regret and remorse, I will be damned forever." She looked at him with eyes that were hollow and haunted and pleading. "How can I feel guilt for taking the lives of those who hurt me?"

He curled his arm around her stomach and she leaned into him, resting her cheek on his shoulder. She hugged his arm against her as though afraid he would let her go and leave her alone with her pain and hopelessness and fear.

He knew that pain. He, too, had been betrayed by someone he loved. He, too, had been hurt deeply. He, too, had killed that person—but with regret, deep regret. But not for killing him.

"Maybe it's not regret for killing your uncle that you're supposed to feel," he murmured into her hair. "Maybe, in that, you did nothing wrong. Maybe it's what you lost that you need to regret."

She went very still. "What do you mean?"

"You loved him," he said softly. "You told me so yourself. You loved him like your father, and you had a special relationship. But the pain of his betrayal has pulled you so deep into hatred that you can't feel that love anymore."

"Are you suggesting I should still love him after what he did?" she asked coldly.

"No. He lost your love, and you both lost the close relationship you once shared. That is what you should regret. You killed him because he hurt you, because he had become twisted and evil and impossible to love, and that you have no need to regret. But at one time you loved each other and shared happiness and were a family. That loss . . . that is what I would regret."

They were silent then, and he lost track of the minutes that passed. The sun filtering through the window dimmed and faded as darkness fell. Nakita was a warm weight against his side, and he listened to her slow, soft breathing, saying nothing of the trickling tears that dampened his shoulder.

Finally, she sighed deeply. "It's easier to hate," she whispered.

"It is," he agreed.

She was quiet for another moment. "I don't know what to do now."

"About what?"

"Shoku. The demons in Soul Society. Ichigo's demon mark. I don't know who to turn to for help. I don't know who my enemies are."

He didn't like that she counted Kurosaki's demon mark as an enemy, but that was a worry for another day. "We'll figure it out."

She paused. "'We'?"

"You don't have to do everything yourself. I'll help. Kurosaki will help. And I'm fairly certain Nakajima will be at your side as well. You're not alone."

Her hands wrapped tightly around his arm, and she turned her face into his shoulder.

"Not alone," she said. "Not anymore."

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**. x : X : x .**

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**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

This scene was originally supposed to be a short little fluff, but turned into an entire chapter when I wrote it. ...Ah well. I like it anyway.

Just a reminder, updates will continue to be slow and unpredictable. I'll try to keep my profile page up-to-date on when you might be able to expect the next chapter if it's late, but no promises there either. Life is complicated right now.

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**GLOSSARY:**

**Shitagi** - In a Shinigami's uniform, the white shirt undergarment worn under the black kosode.

**Haori** - In a Shinigami's uniform, the white, coat-like garment worn over the rest of the outfit; it is worn only by Captains, and indicates their rank and division.


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: **Bleach does not belong to me, but Nakita, Seiko, Saiu, Shoku, and Aranami do.

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**DEVIL'S SMILE**

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**Chapter 19**

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Ichigo ground his teeth together, concentrating hard on keeping silent. He thought wistfully of his bedroom at home, dark and quiet and soothing, with only his sisters and occasionally his father to distract him—oh, and Kon. But at least they didn't bicker _constantly_, antagonizing one another in endless rounds of insults. It was like listening to two-years-olds.

He swung his glare around to Seiko, sitting on the end of Kita's bed and in the middle of a long-winded harangue about the flaky foolishness of the female species and their brainless inability to stay uninjured. He regularly pointed a thick finger in Kita's face to emphasize his point, and her complexion was almost as red as her hair with furious irritation. If she hadn't had a tray of food on her lap, Ichigo was pretty certain she would have snapped off the pointing finger and jammed it where it didn't belong.

"—and is it some kind of girly damsel-in-distress thing," Seiko growled, "that makes you act all weak and helpless so you get the ass kicked out of you, or do you just enjoy all the attention you get if you're hurt—"

Accompanied by the sound of a low growl, the blankets went flying off the second bed. Tōshirō shot out of the bed with an angry huff. Seiko broke off, looking surprised.

"Something wrong?" the demon hunter asked.

"I'm leaving," Tōshirō snapped, grabbing his Captain's haori from the table beside his bed. "I'll get more rest in my office than sitting here listening to you two argue."

Ichigo snorted quietly, silently agreeing. He was still in the room only because he felt he owed Kita for not managing to keep her from getting run through by Shoku. He understood that Seiko was expressing his relief over Kita's recovery by infuriating her, but that didn't make it any less bothersome to listen to.

"If you're leaving, does that mean I can leave too?" Kita demanded petulantly, her eyes flashing with ire. "Every time I set foot outside this room, the healers chase me back in."

"I have more authority than you," Tōshirō said. "If I tell them to get lost, they will." He paused. "Unless Captain Uohana catches us before we get out the building." Worry flickered across his features. "Better hurry," he mumbled, and darted for the door.

Kita looked at the platter of food on her lap for a brief second. Her eyes lifted to Seiko—and narrowed vindictively. With a sudden smirk, she flipped the whole thing in Seiko's face and dove off the bed. In a blink, she was out the door after Tōshirō. Ichigo took one look at Seiko with soup dripping off his chin, noodles hanging in his hair, and murder burning in his eyes—and bolted for the door after her.

He caught up with Kita and Tōshirō on the wide avenue in front of the 4th Division barracks. As he jogged towards them, he smiled to himself at the pair they made. Tōshirō stood with quiet dignity, pristine in his black shihakushō and white Captain's haori, Hyōrinmaru slung across his back. Kita stood beside him, a few inches shorter and with a presence that could fill a room, proud, unyielding strength embodied. Her Slayer uniform was being laundered, so she too wore the black shihakushō of the Shinigami. The dark, loose-fitting garments suited her as well as her exotic, alluring Diviner garb. Her dark red hair was twisted up into a braided bun at the back of her head as it had been when he first met her, but unlike that time, dark circles marred the undersides of her eyes, the only sign she'd been as good as dead just twenty-four hours ago.

The two Captains paused to wait for him. Falling into step beside Tōshirō, he marvelled at how normal Seireitei looked, Shinigami moving purposefully about with no clue as to the evil that had visited Soul Society the day before. Clouds hung heavily over the city, hiding the morning sun and casting a cool shadow over everything.

As his thoughts roamed to Shoku, Ichigo's blood chilled with remembered horror at Kita's near death. He shrugged it off before the others noticed, rubbing his left arm to rid it of the unpleasant tingles travelling over his skin.

"Have you tried your Diviner's Sight since yesterday?" he asked her. "Shoku's spell should have worn off by now, right?"

She shrugged, watching the bustle of the street. "The spell would function for days before it dissipated unless he undid it, but I wouldn't be able to tell from here either way. He may or may not think I'm dead. It depends on whether he went straight back to Hell or lingered in Soul Society."

"But have you tried it?" he pressed, unexplained anxiety lightening his stomach.

Annoyance creased her features. "No, I've been trying to conserve my strength." Her shoulders shifted in a silent sigh. "But if it makes you feel better . . ." She stopped walking, sliding her eyes closed. Her face smoothed of emotion, and when her eyes opened again, her pupils were dilated to obscure her wine-red irises entirely.

She stared straight ahead, then turned her head slowly to look left and right. Her face was eerily empty of emotion, a cold, beautiful porcelain mask with dark, fathomless eyes that saw nothing—and everything. Ichigo found himself holding his breath as that black gaze touched on him, seeming to reach right into his soul with tangible fingers. Her eyes drifted away, and he took a deep breath, telling himself that he wasn't creeped out.

After studying Tōshirō for a long moment, Kita lifted a hand with slow, elegant precision to pass in front of her eyes like she was wiping moisture from face. When she dropped her hand, her eyes were their normal reddish-purple and her expression was frustrated.

"Well?" Ichigo demanded when she didn't say anything right away.

"I think . . . I guess I need more recovery than I thought. My Sight is there, but it's not—exactly working right."

Ichigo scrunched his face up in confusion. Tōshirō pulled his frowning gaze from two half-drunk Shinigami trying to stagger inconspicuously past them and lifted his eyebrows questioningly.

"What's wrong with it?" he asked.

"It's not working right," she repeated. "What I'm seeing doesn't make any sense. I need more rest." She rubbed both hands over her face. "There's no interpretation guide for Diviner's Sight. I just know instinctively what I'm seeing. But right now, what I'm seeing—I don't understand it. It looks like nonsense to me." She shook her head. "I can't even explain it."

Tōshirō tensed, his expression intense with a look Ichigo knew meant the young Captain was making one of those astounding logical leaps that made Ichigo's head spin.

"What else are you seeing?" Tōshirō asked quietly. "Is it one specific thing that isn't making sense, or is everything wrong?"

"Umm." Kita massaged her temples with her fingertips for a moment, weariness etched in her face. "Some of it is normal, some I don't understand, and some is just wrong. I'm seeing things." She dropped her hands, eyes narrowing. "You think . . .?"

The two Captains exchanged a significant look that went right over Ichigo's head. "Uh, what—?" he began.

"If I'm not seeing things," Kita interrupted, "then—"

She swiped a hand in front of her eyes again, invoking her Diviner's Sight. Without another word, she spun on one heel and flash-stepped.

"Shit!" Ichigo huffed in a fast exhale. He flash-stepped after her, right on Tōshirō's heels.

Seireitei whirled by in a blur as they flash-stepped across a half-dozen rooftops, coming to a stop at the edge of the flat roof of a stone building in the middle of the city. Kita stood still and silent, almost as if she were listening hard for something. She turned slowly until she faced the gaping three-story drop to the street below, extending one hand out to her side. With a swirling flash of red light, her long, ebony-black weapon materialized, the silver cutting edges gleaming with promised death.

Alarm zinging through him, Ichigo reached for her. "Kita—"

With terrifying silence, she spun her weapon in her hand to align it with one curved blade pointed downwards, and stepped off the edge.

"Kita!"

Ichigo lunged for the edge of the roof, Tōshirō at his side. A sudden, howling scream lanced their ears, forcing them both back as they clutched their heads.

"Damn it all," Tōshirō growled, pulling his hands down, blood streaking his pale skin. He jumped after Kita.

"Damn it all is right," Ichigo snapped, grinding his teeth as he wiped the blood from under his ears, ignoring the sharp, throbbing ache in his head. Dropping down to the dim street below, he grunted at the sharp shock of pain in his ankles as he hit the ground, bending his knees to take the impact.

Kita stood over the body of a demon, her weapon buried in its chest. It was about the size of a snake-imp, but it looked more like a big, scaly squid, with too many coiling tentacles to count. Ichigo's nose wrinkled involuntarily at the stench coming from it. Euch.

And then he wondered why the hell there was a demon in Seireitei.

Kita looked at them with something close to horror in her eyes. "I'm not seeing things," she whispered.

"I was afraid of that," Tōshirō murmured, nudging a limp tentacle with one foot. He was nearly vibrating with a tension Ichigo didn't understand.

"What?" he snapped. "What is it? What are you seeing?"

She swallowed, her knuckles turning white around the haft of her weapon.

"If I'm not seeing things that aren't there," she said, "if my Diviner's Sight is right . . . then Seireitei is now full of demons."

* * *

**. o : O : o .**

* * *

Cool, incense-scented air brushed across his lips as he slowly inhaled, his breath tempered with the careful, steady pace of meditation. His dark eyelashes fluttered against the pale skin of his cheeks, but he kept his eyes closed even as sharp anticipation threaded with anxiety sent a pulse of adrenaline through his body.

Saiu settled himself, sinking more comfortably into the dark sofa where Kurosaki Ichigo has once sat. Pulling the tension from his muscles, he smoothed all expression from his face and pulled in another slow, careful breath. Finally, he was starting to see the shape of it. Aranami was a fool for not hunting down Ichigo the moment he learned of the boy-Shinigami's existence.

Feeding a light trickle of magic into the seeing spell, he resumed his watch on Ichigo, beholding all that Ichigo saw. Now, more than ever, was it essential for him to know what was happening in Soul Society.

He had waited through the past hours with gradually waning patience, frequently resorting to pacing his apartments out of frustration. Souls were such fragile things; it had taken so long for the female Diviner to recover from her near death. Saiu had been waiting, waiting, waiting for her to use her Diviner's Sight, knowing that with her assumed murder, Aranami would be moving on to the next step in his plot.

Little had he suspected that it was the final steps he would soon witness.

He was thankful he had given in to the urge to influence Ichigo into prompting the Diviner to check over the city. He'd kept his touch as light as possible, hoping to keep his interference unnoticed. He suspected that the Diviner knew his magic lay heavily upon Ichigo right now, but for whatever reason, she was keeping her silence about it.

He didn't like that her motivations were unknown to him, but he was far more worried about his brothers.

Again, he relaxed his body as tension flowed into him. Aranami was making his move now, was finally going to make a bid for Shiose's power. If only Saiu knew the shape of Aranami's coming strike, but the Diviner didn't understand what she was seeing. Whatever it was that made no sense in her eyes, that was it. That was what would change Hell beyond salvation. He _had_ to know what it was.

Frustration tightened his jaw as he watched through Ichigo's eyes and listened with his ears to the human-Shinigami and the young Shinigami Captain fire questions at the Diviner about the demons in their city. Didn't they see the truth? The demons were guards and, if necessary, diversions. It was what those demons protected that should be demanding their attention. He forced his hands out of fists before his claws cut his palms. Patience.

A sharp tap on the door to his apartments make him start, his eyes flying open. Slightly embarrassed at being taken by surprise, he sank back into the sofa, closing his eyes and recapturing the seeing spell. Whoever was at the door would have to come back later. He was busy.

After a moment, the rap on the door came again, loud, rude, and insistent. _Bang, bang, bang_.

Saiu's eyes slid open again, slowly this time.

_Bang, bang, bang._

His lips pulled back, baring sharp, pointed teeth. A deep, dangerous glow grew deep in his midnight red eyes as icy, lethal rage began to unfurl inside him. Who dared to disturb him so audaciously? Who dared persist in drawing his attention when he was occupied? _Who dared?_

An even louder series of knocks drove his insulted fury higher. He was going to tear the life from whomever stood on the other side of that door, and let their dying screams soothe his wrath.

With a soft thump and quiet clatter, the door rolled open.

Saiu didn't move. For a moment, he was too shocked to do more than stare. _No one_ opened his door but him. _No one_ entered his apartments without his invitation. _No one_ disturbed his solitude without his leave.

No one except his brothers, and it was not his brothers who stood in the threshold, watching him with wary arrogance.

Three demon lords paused in the doorway, hesitating at the lack of expression on the demon prince's face. Saiu was not a very expression person, but when his expression smoothed to a serene calm and his eyes lit with the soft glow of power so great as to be incomprehensible, blood and death hovered but a breath away.

Saiu waited, silent, for whatever paltry excuses the demon lords might whimper before they gave him their hearts.

The middle lord cleared his throat, his blood-red eyes careful but still confident. "Miyasama," he said in a high, throaty voice. "Please forgive our intrusion—"

Saiu lips curled, and the demon hurriedly continued.

"—but your brother urgently demands that you attend him immediately."

Saiu went utterly still, his face blanking as he pulled his emotions down to his center, hidden where the demon lords couldn't even guess at them.

By the fires of Hell, he had been outmanoeuvred. _Damn you for an eternity and again, Aranami_.

These demon lords were Aranami's pets, and they were here to cripple any attempt Saiu might make to interfere with Aranami's plans. If he had needed confirmation that his brother was in the final, vital steps of his coup, Saiu now had it. He had waited too long, and now his hands were tied.

Unmoving in his seat, he studied the demons. No demon lord was a real threat to him, but three were enough to slow him down. But he couldn't kill them now anyway. If he spilled their blood, Aranami would have the excuse he needed to delay, detain, or even kill Saiu. As a demon prince, Saiu was above the law in the eyes of every demon but his brothers. His kin were the only ones who could call him to task if he overstepped his power, and Aranami would take any opportunity to move for Saiu's execution. Shiose would override it, but it would hinder Saiu's ability to act until it was too late.

He stared at the three lords, the glacial weight of his gaze promising them pain beyond their imagining followed by the final death, and no mercy would they find in either. Not now, but soon. They would die as surely as the dark sun of Hell would rise over the mountains each new day.

Fear flickered in their eyes as they saw the promise in his.

"Aranami will have to wait," Saiu said finally, his voice crooning with uncompromising threat. "I am busy."

The middle demon, cocky with Aranami's favour, cast his red eyes over Saiu reclined on the sofa and smiled. He thought he had this battle won already. He thought he would survive this.

Saiu uncoiled from his seat with the languid grace of a predator. The demon lord was mistaken on both accounts. He would die. His comrades would die. But if they delayed Saiu too long, Shiose would die too, and Hell would descend into a spreading chaos that would swallow all the worlds into darkness.

* * *

**. o : O : o .**

* * *

Nakita leaned against the stone wall in the dim alley and tried to find some small comfort in the familiar weight of Hiren in her hands. The dark weapon gleamed, whispering its pleasure at the demon blood coating its blade. She caressed the smooth haft, soothing the bloodlust of her Akkihasaiki. Hiren would gorge on the blood of many demons this day. Dozens. Over a hundred.

Far too many demons for Nakita to track down and kill, even with the help of the Shinigami Captains. Once the demons realized they were being hunted, they would go on the attack, devastating Seireitei and wiping out the Shinigami. No matter how powerful the Shinigami might be—and aside from their Captains and officers, not that powerful as far as she'd seen—it was impossible to fight an enemy with untouchable stealth for very long. Damn demon magic back to Hell where it belonged.

Ichigo and Tōshirō stood silently, mute with the gravity of the city's dilemma, waiting for her to come up with a way to save them. She didn't know. She didn't have a clue. _Why me? Why do I always have to be the one with all the answers? _

She could petition the Warlord for help. With a full company of demon hunters, the demons in Seireitei could be exterminated before the sun set. But Shoku has already proven that at least one demon hunter had turned traitor, and she feared what might happen if she revealed Soul Society's vulnerability. She feared that the Warlord was a traitor too. She didn't know who to trust, and there was no one for her to turn to anymore.

Not knowing what else to do, she invoked her Diviner's Sight again, letting the swirling colours and patterns fill her vision. Grey threads ran everywhere, ready to lead her to the hidden the demons. There were so many, of every class all the way up to Class 2. Three Class 2 demons. She was the walking dead now. Once they realized she was alive and could find them, could warn the Shinigami . . . Not that a warning would save them at this point.

Hovering in front of her was a thick, twisting mess of colours that were braided and tangled in shapes and patterns that made no sense at all. It was like looking at a page of scribbles and trying to find words in it. She'd never seen anything like it. It gave her a headache just looking at its overall shape. She didn't want to pull on the thread and see what it would tell her. She'd already tried, and it was nonsense. Painful, headache-inducing nonsense.

And it didn't really matter what it was, because they were all doomed. Once they received whatever signal they were waiting for, the hidden demons would tear the city apart.

As she fought back her despair, she studied the Class 2 demons' thread instead. As she focused on them, the dark lines of colour separated and unravel into coils of information that her brain could catalogue and interpret as easily as she breathed—with the exception of the nonsense-thread. She looked at each demon thread in turn, hoping for some insight into why they were here but hadn't started killing yet.

The threads shifted as she mentally skimmed the information they held, like flipping through a book. Exhausted from focusing her Sight for so long, she started to pull back so she could rest—and saw something that she hadn't noticed before.

She stilled, sucking in a breath and holding it, afraid that even the slightest movement might disturb the threads and steal away the small, seemingly insignificant detail she'd found. She looked again, carefully, then backed up, zooming out to take in the threads of the other demons.

Yes, she was right. The three Class 2 demons, and every other demon in the city, were arranged in a defensive pattern circling one central position: the very place where the indecipherable thread of _something_ originated.

They were here because of it. Whatever the thread represented, they were arranged around it. Why?

Swiping a hand across her eyes in a physical gesture to supplement the mental push that shut down her Diviner's Sight, she straightened from the wall and let her weapon dissolve into nothingness. Ichigo and Tōshirō tensed expectantly.

"The—thing—I'm seeing that I don't understand," she said in a low, intense voice, "the demons in the city are all arranged around it. Whatever it is, that's why they're here."

"Then we need to find out what it is," Tōshirō said. "Where is it?"

She pointed to the center of Seireitei where the ground rose sharply in a tall cliff upon which perched dozen of tall white buildings—the command center of Soul Society. "At the base of the cliff, as close as I can tell," she told them.

Ichigo squinted at it. "Isn't there a big open space there? In front of that huge staircase?" He looked at Tōshirō. "That's where I defeated Renji the first time I was here, isn't it?"

Tōshirō nodded. "If the demons are arranged around it, we should approach carefully so they don't know that we know about the—whatever it is." A brief, humourless smile flickered over his lips as he looked her over. "It's a good thing you look like a Shinigami right now. They probably won't even notice you."

She snorted softly. "If it wasn't for your Captain's haori, they probably wouldn't notice you either."

He made an annoyed noise, frowning at her for taking a shot as his height and young appearance.

"Actually, Tōshirō," Ichigo said, "maybe you should take it off. We're trying for incognito here, and Captains are the most easily recognizable of all the Shinigami."

Tōshirō's frown darkened into a scowl. Nakita nodded her agreement, and Ichigo lifted his eyebrows in question at Tōshirō's hesitation. They waited impatiently for Tōshirō to cave to the logic of their argument. Nakita knew why he didn't want to leave his haori behind, but he needed to have a little more faith in his ability to wield authority—without tying it to forms of address and articles of clothing.

Making a disgusted sound, Tōshirō pulled off his Zanpakutō and slipped out of his haori, passing it to Nakita to fold. He buckled his sword back on as she tucked the white garment into a nook in the wall where it wouldn't get lost or dirty.

"Happy?" he growled, holding out his arms as if waiting for their opinions of his haori-less appearance.

Nakita buried a smile and resisted the urge to tease him—and was surprised that she wanted to. This place was making her go soft if she felt like teasing a Shinigami Captain when Soul Society was about to become a demon playground.

Ichigo, however, didn't seem to feel inhibited by the dire mood.

"Actually," he drawled, smirking, "maybe you should put it back on. I dunno if I want to be seen walking around Soul Society with a twelve-year-old Shiniga—hey!"

He dodged Tōshirō's attempt to smack him, grinning. "You look fine, Tōshirō. You look exactly like you always do, just with less billowing white everywhere. Can we go now?"

Nakita coughed into her hand to smother a laugh at Tōshirō's expression. The three of them exchanged a look, and the humour died completely.

"No mistakes," she said quietly. They didn't have any room for error in this.

"We'll make for the surrounding buildings so you can see the whole courtyard from above," Tōshirō said. "It will take too long to avoid all the demons, so we'll pretend we don't know they're there."

"Just three Shinigami going about their business," Ichigo said.

She nodded, stealing herself. Making it to the courtyard was going to be a game of chance and deception, but it wasn't what worried her. What made her tremble inside was the fear that whatever they would find there would be even worse than a hundred demons, and it would be something they couldn't handle.

By heaven and hell, let it be something they could handle. Let it be something that would save them.

* * *

**. x : X : x .**

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Woooow, that was a long delay between chapters. Life got in the way, as it likes to do. This chapter is a first for me in that I'm posting something that I literally _just_ finished writing, without coming back to it after a few days to read it over for mistakes, continuity, clarity, typos, etc. before posting. Thus, my writing this chapter might be a little sloppier than usual, but I figured no one would want to wait another day (or three) for me to get around to reading it over.

On a completely different note, a reviewer mentioned last chapter that souls don't feel hunger, but I had Tōshirō wanting food to speed his recovery. The reviewer (whom I'm not naming because FFnet used to have a rule about not naming names in chapters, and I have no idea if that rule is still in effect) was basing that on the (anime) canon episode where Ichigo is recovering his Shinigami powers and is warned that hunger would mean he's becoming a Hollow.

I, however, was drawing on the details revealed in the flashback episodes dealing with Rukia's and Renji's childhood days in Rukongai. At that time, it was explained that souls _without_ spiritual powers do not feel hunger and need only water to survive, but souls _with_ spiritual powers do feel hunger and need food to fuel themselves.

Obviously, those two bits of Bleach world-building don't match up. When Ichigo was recovering his Shinigami powers and was no more than a "Plus" soul, he supposedly didn't need food (or want it until he started to Hollowfy). But he's always had spiritual powers, so wouldn't he have hungered just as Rukia and Renji did as children? Do the nature of souls change after Soul Burial? Does the presence of the Chain of Fate affect the need for food? This is one of those frustrating inconsistencies and/or unexplained occurrences that seriously annoy people like me who need to know every detail about how a fictional world works.

So point of fact: I wasn't actually overlooking something when I had Tōshirō wanting food. I went with the explanation in the Rukia/Renji flashback since it seemed more accurate, seeing as how Shinigami are occasionally seen eating food. But, by the same token, that astute reviewer wasn't wrong either.

Let's blame this on the anime writers, since I'm sure it's somehow their fault that we're confused. (And if not... I'm going to blame them anyway, just for their craptastic filler arcs.)

If anyone understands it better (manga readers?), feel free to explain it. And also, unnamed reviewer, thanks muchly for giving me something to natter about. I love discussing this kind of thing—though I'm sort of having this conversation with myself, since I dunno who would read all this. Oh well.


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: **Bleach does not belong to me, but Nakita, Seiko, Saiu, Shoku, and Aranami do.

* * *

**DEVIL'S SMILE**

* * *

**Chapter 19**

* * *

Nakita struggled to keep her breathing slow and regular, making a conscious effort to keep tension from filling her muscles and stilting her movement. She tried not to twitch at the feeling of eyes on her back—demon eyes. Forcing a pleasant, slightly distracted expression onto her face, she swung her arms a little to look more relaxed.

Ichigo walked beside her, his mouth turned down in a scowl that she knew he couldn't repress. A light sheen of sweat dampened his forehead, and he moved stiffly. He could feel the eyes watching them too. They both walked in Tōshirō's shadow, letting the Shinigami-Captain-in-disguise lead them on the best route to the courtyard where the _something_ she could see with her Diviner's Sight waited.

There were demons everywhere. She couldn't see them, keeping her Diviner's Sight shut down so she didn't react to their presences. If she knew exactly where they were, she would have to worry about acting like she didn't know. This was easier—but far more nerve-wracking.

Hidden with magic though they were, the air was heavy and cold, fear seeping through the atmosphere like poison. If the Class 2 demons had held their positions, she, Ichigo, and Tōshirō were passing within one short block of one of them. It could kill all three of them before they even knew it was there. She reminded herself that it didn't know the three of them from any of the other several dozen Shinigami moving about the area. She didn't like the unease crawling across her skin, dread and trepidation just beneath it.

Tōshirō pushed open the door of a building, breezing in like he had every reason to be there. She and Ichigo followed, trying to look casual. It looked like some kind of storeroom, filled with boxes. As the door shut behind them, Nakita blew out a breath, trying to work out the tension in her muscles.

"I don't like this," Ichigo muttered, rolling his shoulders.

Tōshirō said nothing, heading for the stairs at the back of the large open space. In single file they climbed three stories to reach a landing. Tōshirō pulled a lever, and a trap door in the ceiling dropped open, the ladder sliding into place with a loud clatter that made her wince. He looked at them.

"Ready?" he whispered.

She and Ichigo nodded. Moving quietly, he led the way up the ladder and onto the roof of the building. He immediately went into a low crouch, shuffling forwards to lie down on his belly. Nakita followed right behind him, also dropping to her stomach. With Ichigo right behind them, they inched across the rooftop, sliding forwards on their stomachs so they wouldn't be silhouetted against the cloudy sky should any demon happen to be looking up.

She pulled herself to the edge of the rooftop, shifting to kneel hunched over so she could see over the foot-high wall around the rim. With Tōshirō on one side and Ichigo on the other, she peered down at the huge courtyard of white stone. Four Shinigami were crossing it at a quick walk, deep in conversation, heading away from the stairway that cut a deep crevice in the cliff wall.

"I don't see anything," Ichigo said tersely. "Where is it?"

Breathing deeply, she blinked her Diviner's Sight into play.

The courtyard lit up with threads of patterned, coloured light. Threads twined everywhere, glowing so brightly that she squinted. She stared at the pattern of threads encompassing the entire courtyard.

An enormous circle of light reached for the edges of the empty space, spanning a hundred yards in diameter. Filling the circle was an enormous six-pointed star in the form of two reversed, bisecting triangles, each point touching the outer circle. The center of the star formed a perfect pentagram, and within that were three intersecting circles forming four clearly defined spaces. Each space contained a glowing symbol.

"It's a spell," she whispered hoarsely. "It's an enormous Kidō spell." God save them all.

"What spell?" Ichigo asked urgently. "What does the spell do?"

"I don't know," she choked out, her heart pounding with something close to panic. "The spell is so complex. I've never seen anything like it. I think it's more than one spell combined." She looked back and forth between the two Shinigami on either side of her. "It could do anything! Who created this? Shoku? Does he have this kind of skill?"

Ichigo bowed his head, his face stricken with sudden horror.

"Can you tell anything about the purpose of the spell?" Tōshirō asked, his voice sharp with anxiety.

She shook her head. "Circle," she muttered. "Six-pointed star. Pentagram. Triple-circle. One of the symbols is for channelling power, the other is for gathering. But I can't decipher—"

Ichigo made a soft, hoarse sound, almost like a sob. Nakita's eyes flew wide, dispelling her Sight, and she twisted to look at him. "Ichigo?"

He was hunched over with both hands pressed to his head, panting and shaking.

"Ichigo!" Nakita gasped, alarmed. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head mutely, still clutching it. He suddenly jerked, nearly falling over. He scrambled to his feet, shaking his head back and forth, blindly stumbling backwards.

She and Tōshirō both shot to their feet. Nakita reached for him but didn't touch him, not knowing what to do. "Ichigo?"

"No," he moaned, shaking more violently. "No! Stop it!"

He suddenly threw his head back, his back arching as he rose onto his toes. His hands made fists in his hair, and agony contorted his face. His body quaked in a near convulsion. With a dark flicker, his demon mark came to life, the red design glowing brightly over his skin and clothes.

Nakita stumbled back, peering frantically across the rooftop for whatever demon had come near enough to trigger his mark. But the rooftop was empty, even to her Diviner's Sight. She turned her Sight on Ichigo, and her stomach twisted with sharp dread.

Ichigo's reiatsu was stained with a teal colour so dark it was almost black. As she looked, the teal spread, splotching his bright blue aura like rust on iron. The demon mark glowed brighter, spreading demonic magic through him. His body vibrated with the forces moving through him, driving into his human body and human soul where nothing demonic should ever touch.

With a final shudder, Ichigo's body relaxed until he stood normally. His hands fell from his face, but the demon mark still glowed brightly. His expression had gone completely blank, filled cold emptiness that revealed no emotion at all. His flat gaze went immediately to the courtyard, and he walked to the edge of the rooftop.

Nakita recoiled involuntarily, fear zinging through her at the silky smoothness of Ichigo's flowing movements. Ichigo didn't move like that. It was too graceful, too predatory.

He stopped at the edge of the roof, staring down at the courtyard. Nakita exchanged a panicked look with Tōshirō. Moving together, they approached Ichigo side-by-side, a united front.

"Ichigo?" she asked cautiously.

He ignored her, his back to her as he studied the empty courtyard.

"Ichigo, look at me." Nakita put the snap of command into her voice. "Now!"

His shoulders shifted back, and he pivoted slowly with an unreal grace. As he faced them, the demon mark still alight, Nakita's face blanked.

Looking at her from a face empty of all emotion, Ichigo's warm brown irises were threaded through with glowing black. No, she realized, it was a blackish red. Midnight red. As she fought not to hyperventilate at the terrible _wrongness_ of those eyes in Ichigo's face, she noticed a cool, earthy scent in the air, completely out of place on the dusty stone rooftop. And she knew what had happened.

"No!" she said so loudly that Tōshirō jumped. Ichigo didn't react at all. "Get out!" she shrieked at him, panic clutching her heart. "Get out of him!"

Ichigo's head tipped to one side, an almost questioning look coming over him as his eyebrows lifted slightly. The red in his eyes spread a little more.

"Nakita?" Tōshirō whispered, his hand on his sword's hilt.

"Diviner." The voice was Ichigo's, but softer, smoother, and all wrong. "Listen to me."

"No! Get out of Ichigo! Don't you know what you're doing to him? You're going to destroy his soul!"

"Then listen to me so I can leave him," said whatever was inside Ichigo, using his body and befouling his soul.

"Nakita!" Tōshirō said urgently.

"Ichigo's been possessed," she snapped, glaring at Ichigo's tormentor. "A demon has control of his body. Get out of him!" she shot at the demon. Hiren materialized in her hand almost without thought. "Get out of him, or by God I swear I'll kill his body to save his soul."

Tōshirō's eyes went wide, and he pulled his Zanpakutou from his sheath with a hiss of dissolving ice.

The demon inside Ichigo drew himself up. The red in his eyes glowed bright, and the demon mark writhed. Nakita braced herself, expecting him to attack.

And then the demon's aura hit her.

The air sucked from her lungs. Hiren slipped from her hand, and she fell to her knees, her body going limp and languid. Tōshirō mirrored her, dropping to his knees as Hyōrinmaru clattered to the cement beside him. Her face went slack, her heart pounding wildly. A strange warmth filled her, making her weak and woozy inside. Her emotions muted, the fear-fuelled anger dissolving to become less than a memory. A mindless, unthinking lassitude filled her, and she could do nothing but surrender to it. There was nothing in her left to resist.

For the first time she could remember, she felt completely at peace with herself and the world. It was a beautiful, enrapturing serenity, to have no will of her own, and thus no reason to fight, to struggle, to resist. No reason for fear. No reason for pain. Nothing but peace.

But the peace was fading. Fear crawled back in, spreading through her until her entire body trembled with it. It had been a long time since she had felt this kind of fear. She wasn't afraid of pain or death. Her eyes lifted to the demon.

But she feared losing her willpower. Her willpower was the only thing that could never be taken from her—and this demon just had.

She shook, pulling in air with a desperation that warned her she might faint. She realized that the demon had pulled back its aura to return her will to her, but it could unleash its aura again at any time. And then it could kill her as slowly as it pleased, and she would do nothing to stop it. It could command her surrender with nothing more than thought.

Tōshirō was on his hands and knees beside her, shaking just as badly. He stared sightlessly at the white stone between his hands, fighting back his terror. He'd never experienced a demon lord's aura before; the shock of it was always worse the first time. Even she'd never felt anything like that before.

"Are you ready to listen now?" the demon asked softly. The cadence of its speech was all wrong in Ichigo's voice, lilting and melodic in a way that no teenage boy could ever imitate.

"Who _are_ you?" she whispered, hating the quiver in her voice but unable to stop it.

"I had thought that would be obvious."

She blinked—then gasped. It was obvious. How blind could she be? Seiko had told her about their educated guess of the identity of the demon who had marked Ichigo. Who else would—or could—possess him?

"_Miyasama_," she breathed, clenching her hands into fists to stop their trembling. She sat back on her heels, but didn't rise. It wouldn't be proper. And she didn't think her legs would support her yet anyway.

He acknowledged her with a nod. "It is not my intention to damage Ichigo," he said quietly. "I would not do this but for great need." Moving slowly so as not to appear threatening, he stepped closer and knelt in front of her. "Diviner, do you know what spell it is you see below?"

She shook her head, unable to look away from his eyes. The brown of Ichigo's irises was completely gone now, and black-red orbs with no pupils watched her with a frightening intensity.

"It is a modified form of Hadō #141," he told her gravely.

"The energy spell?" she said, her stomach flip-flopping. "The spell that drains the energy of its target? It doesn't look like Hadō #141."

"You do not recognize because it has been highly modified. This spell is so complex that it would take a demon lord's skill to twist it."

"What's it going to do?" she asked, knowing that if a demon lord could make the spell, then a demon prince could do even better—so there was no question of whether or not he could tell what its purpose was.

The demon drew in a slow breath and let it out again before answering. "The spell in that courtyard is going to drain the reiryoku of every soul in Seireitei and condense the energy into a weapon with enough force to destroy an entire world."

The blood drained from her head, making her face go cold. She swayed, dizzy. "Why?" she whispered weakly.

"Because it would take an amount of force equal to destroying a world to kill a demon prince."

Her eyes went wide. "Someone wants to kill you?"

"No me," he said softly. A bitter, rueful smile twisted his lips. "Not yet, at least."

Her mind whirled, and she spun through what she knew of the politics of demon royalty. "You're the youngest prince, aren't you?"

He nodded. "And I am trying to save my eldest brother—and this world—but I need your help."

"Me?"

"Yes. The spell must be destroyed before it can be invoked. It has been slowly spreading through the city since it was set. When it has encompassed the whole of the city and locked on to all the souls within it, it can be invoked—and every soul in Seireitei will be destroyed."

Tōshirō lifted his head, his eyes wide with horror. "Can you stop the spell?" he croaked.

She looked from him to the demon prince behind Ichigo's empty face. "I don't understand the spell at all," she said desperately. "I don't know how to take it apart—"

"It is too late to break it down," the demon said. "It must be dissolved."

"Dissolved?" She sucked in a breath. "You mean the dissolution spell? But that's a 200-level spell!"

"It is the only way."

"What's the dissolution spell?" Tōshirō asked, eyes darting between her and the demon.

She stared at the demon prince, mute beneath the hopelessness of the situation. When she stayed silent, he answered Tōshirō's question.

"Bakudō #213 is a very powerful spell that will dissolve any Kidō within a certain area. _Any_ Kidō, it matters not the type of spell or state of magic. All Kidō will be dissolved to nothing, as salt dissolves in water."

"I can't do it," Nakita said, stumbling over the words as she forced them out as fast as she could. "I've never cast anything higher than #150. I don't have the power for a 200-level. It'll kill me before I even get halfway."

"I do not think it will," the demon prince said, his red eyes seeing right into her soul. "Neither does your mentor."

She choked on a breath. He meant Shoku. That's why Shoku had killed her. That's why he'd killed all the other Diviners who had the potential to cast a 200-level spell. So no one could stop this one spell. _Damn you to Hell a thousand times over, you traitorous bastard._

She shook her head. "No. You can do it. Even if I could, the city is full of demons—"

"I cannot help you," he interrupted. "I cannot leave Hell. I am—"

The demon broke off, his eyes losing focus. The red-black faded suddenly to Ichigo's chocolate brown, but there was nothing behind Ichigo's eyes but a soulless emptiness. He was completely still for a long moment.

With a sharp breath he focused again, the red flooding back into his eyes.

"I cannot aid you," he said distractedly, like most of his attention was elsewhere. "He knows I will interfere, and he has—" He faded out, came back. "You must not wait for me," he said urgently. "You must dissolution the spell. It is up to you now."

"But—"

"There are no alternatives," he snapped. "Failure is not an option, Diviner. If you fail, Seireitei dies."

She straightened. He was right. There was no else to do this. She would succeed, or she would die trying. It was that simple.

"Yes, miyasama," she said, her resolve ringing clearly in her voice.

A brief smile ghosted across his lips. "May Heaven's light and the Devil's luck bring you victory," he murmured. "And may God have mercy on us all if we fail."

"How long until the spell is ready?" she asked.

"You have three hours," he replied, and with a last flicker of the demon mark, he was gone.

Ichigo's face went slack and his brown eyes rolled back. She and Tōshirō lunged forward, catching him before he hit the stone rooftop. Supporting him together, they settled his unconscious form between them. She rested a hand on his shoulder, lips pressed together into a thin line as she remembered the demon prince's aura.

_Oh, Ichigo_, she thought sadly. _No wonder you wouldn't tell anyone what happened to you in Hell_.

Tōshirō looked at her from the other side of Ichigo. "It sounded to me like the demon prince is going to die too if this goes wrong."

She nodded. "He's set himself against whoever made that spell—and I'm pretty sure the one who set the spell is the middle brother. If the middle prince kills the older prince, there will be nothing to stop him from killing the youngest prince too."

He looked down at Ichigo's sleep-peaceful face. "The demons in the city aren't just going sit back and watch you try to break that spell."

She was glad he wasn't trying to talk her out of it. He understood necessity as did she.

"No, they won't. We need a plan."

"We need to tell the Captain-Commander," Tōshirō said. "This is going to take everyone—every Shinigami with half a chance at killing a demon."

"That's not going to be enough," she said flatly. "They can't kill what they can't find. We need more than Shinigami for this battle."

Tōshirō looked at her, the question in his eyes.

She touched the back of Ichigo's hand where the demon mark had glowed. How much more would Ichigo and the rest of the Shinigami have to suffer because of demons? Because the Hunters weren't doing their jobs?

"We need more than Shinigami," she said. "We need Diviners." Her hands clenched into fists and a hard smile curved her lips as she met Tōshirō's eyes. "And I'm going to get them for us."

* * *

**. x : X : x .**

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**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

I am most proud to have gotten this chapter out exactly on time. Yay for me! Let's keep our fingers crossed that I can keep this up.

My apologies to all the reviewers whose reviews I haven't replied to. I'm so busy these days that I thought I should put my teeny bits of free time towards writing more story instead of replying to reviews (which takes a surprising amount of time). But please keep reviewing! I read every one, and they're a huge contributing factor to the speed of my writing; reviews fuel my motivation to write like you wouldn't believe. Not to mention they make me happy. I literally beam smiles at my laptop screen. Passersby think I'm crazy.

Oh, and for those who watched the new Bleach episode today—  
-grabs Orihime by the hair and shakes her-


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer: **Bleach does not belong to me, but Nakita, Seiko, Saiu, Shoku, and Aranami do.

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**DEVIL'S SMILE**

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**Chapter 21**

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"What's taking so damned long?" Seiko demanded.

Ichigo ignored the enormous Hunter's growling complaints, scowling as he rubbed at the ache in his shoulder.

He was less than happy about Saiu's little 'visit' using his body. All his muscles burned with a residual pain from the demon magic that has seared through him, and he still felt weak and feverish. Not to mention he didn't remember anything from the moment Kita had discovered the spell up to regaining consciousness an hour ago. Damn demon.

If he was honest with himself, he should be grateful to Saiu; the demon prince had provided them with invaluable information and a way to save Seireitei—even if it was a long shot. But being grumpy about Saiu's rude magical invasion was better than acknowledging his bone-deep fear of the effortless way the demon had taken control of him—and could do so again at any time. He needed to get rid of that cursed demon mark before Saiu did him permanent harm, intentional or not. Kita said Saiu hadn't wanted to hurt him, but Ichigo knew Saiu's reluctance to damage Ichigo stemmed solely from Ichigo's usefulness as a tool, and not any heartfelt concern for his wellbeing.

Damn demon.

Sighing, he gave up on trying to soothe the persistent muscle aches and dropped his hand from his shoulder. He turned to Kita to check her progress.

The petite Diviner was sitting cross-legged in the center of the large basement room, surrounded by the glowing symbols of a spell so complex he had no idea how she could remember it, let alone construct it properly. Seiko stood several paces away from the edge of the spell, his face dark with irritated impatience, arms crossed as he hovered and complained. Ichigo could sympathize; he wasn't good at waiting either.

The quiet hum of conversation behind him drew his attention away from Kita, and he surveyed the surprisingly crowded room.

While he'd been unconscious from Saiu's possession, Kita and Tōshirō had moved quickly, setting their preparations into motion with a smooth expedience that came from years of experience in command, organization, and too many emergency situations to count. In just under two hours, they'd alerted the Captain-Commander of the situation, set up and held a secret Captain's Meeting that the demons wouldn't notice, formulated a plan of attack, found a large, hidden room that could hold a hundred people, and arranged for the necessary people to make their way to that location in a slow trickle that, again, wouldn't be too noticeable to any watching demons.

The dusty, gymnasium-sized room in the basement of one of 10th Division Captain Kurotsuchi's many research facilities was now feeling a bit crowded with 70 people waiting in it with varying degrees of impatience and edginess. The Captains, Vice-Captains, and 3rd, 4th, and 5th Seats of each squad made up the majority of the room's populace, with Ichigo, Orihime, Rukia, Seiko, and Kita rounding it off. Orihime stood out the most, being the only attendee who wasn't wearing Shinigami garments. Ichigo thought the shihakushō suited Kita, but on Seiko, it just looked strange.

A few paces behind Ichigo, Ukitake and Kyōraku spoke together in soft undertones, standing to one side of the Captain-Commander. The Old Man watched Kita work her spell with half-closed eyes, by all appearances bored out of his mind. But Ichigo had come to respect Yamamoto's keen tactical mind like never before in the last hour; if not for the Old Man's quick, decisive action, they wouldn't even be half this close to pulling off their plan—or even having a workable plan at that.

Byakuya stood silently, Renji behind and to the side of his Captain. Soifon waited with her arms folded across her chest and a severe look on her young face. Komamura's huge form hulked in a corner with his Vice-Captain in his shadow. Kenpachi, unlike the Old Man, didn't just look bored—he _was_ bored. But there was a glitter of vicious anticipation in his eye at the coming battle. Uohana looked out of place among all the hardened warriors, her expression both wise and serene. Kurotsuchi stood alone with a wide empty space around him, his bad temper at this invasion of his facility keeping anyone from approaching him. The Vice-Captains stood by their Captains with the exception of Kira, Hisagi, and Hinamori, who didn't have Captains, while the 3rd, 4th, and 5th Seats were grouped at the back of the room.

Tōshirō stood on Ichigo's right, with Rukia and Orihime on his left. The young Captain's face was grave as he watched Kita work her spell, and the weight of his worry cut faint lines into his face.

A bright flash of red light jerked Ichigo's wandering gaze back to Kita.

An enormous bubble of red light had come into existence, twelve feet in diameter and brushing both the ceiling and the floor. The red sphere pulsed, and a dark strip of blackness spread horizontally to cut the bubble in half. The black then spread up and down to form a dark square of nothingness in the center of the red bubble.

Ichigo recognized it from the very first time he'd seen Kita and Seiko. It was a doorway from one dimension to another, the Demon Hunter equivalent of a Senkaimon.

Seiko grinned. "Here they come."

Another pulse of light, and a human shape appeared in the shadowy opening. With a light hop, a woman dropped gracefully to the stone floor. As she straightened, she flipped her waist-length golden-blonde hair over one shoulder and turned startlingly blue eyes on the watching Shinigami. A devilishly wicked sparkle came into those eyes as she surveyed the nearest Shinigami, her gaze lingering quite obviously on the younger males. Ichigo shifted uncomfortably as her stare ran over him before shifting to Tōshirō.

"Mmm," she breathed, running her hands down the front of her sleeveless kimono to smooth the dark material. A wide red obi accentuated her narrow waist and the swell of her chest, while the slit on the left side of the long kimono showed off one lean leg and its thigh-high red tabi.

Ichigo swallowed hard when the tip of the young woman's tongue poked out of her full lips as she combed her fingers through her long hair. Her eyes were moving back and forth between Ichigo and Tōshirō as though sizing them up.

"Mmm," she murmured again, glancing briefly at Kita. "I can't decide." She lowered her eyelashes and smiled up at Ichigo and Tōshirō. "Can I have them both?"

Ichigo's face blanked. Suddenly Rukia was on one side of him and Orihime on the other. Both women had the same cold, territorial gleam in her eyes as she stared down the newcomer. Ichigo swallowed again. Tōshirō just stared.

"Nozomi," Kita growled. "Behave yourself or go home."

Nozomi finally turned her attention fully to Kita. "Hullo, Captain," she said brightly, cocking one hip and crossing her arms as her eyebrows shot up. "What in the four worlds are you _wearing_?"

"I'm in disguise," Kita answered shortly. "Where's Hayate?"

"Here," called a light male voice. With another pulse, the red portal disgorged a second Diviner, this one a man about Ichigo's height and build, with tousled, coppery-brown hair and a mischievous smile already in place.

"Should I tie down Nozomi, or just knock her unconscious right now?" he asked lightly, glancing over the assorted audience as he stepped to Nozomi's side.

"Hmph," Nozomi sniffed. "As if you could."

"I should give you a smack just for coming first," he told her, pulling a mock angry face. "Vice-Captains come before 3rd Seats."

Nozomi stuck out her tongue. "Well, you're just too slow then, aren't you?"

Hayate's retort was cut off by the arrival of the next Diviner, followed by another, and another, until twenty-four Diviners were clustered in front of the portal. With a bright flash, the dimensional doorway dissolved—and the tension in the large room skyrocketed.

With quick efficiency, Hayate organized the small group in a double-line by order of rank. Nozomi winked and smiled sultrily at Ichigo as she passed him to her spot beside the Vice-Captain. He fought back a blush, avoiding her inviting stare.

With the group of Diviners lined up and easy to study as a whole, Ichigo felt a nervous prickle start in his stomach. Hayate was all smiles and good cheer—but as the Vice-Captain of Kita's Company, he had to be deadly. Nozomi hardly seemed dangerous—at least not in the sense that she could kill anyone—but she had to be almost as powerful as Hayate likely was. She didn't look it anymore than her Vice-Captain.

Most of the Diviners lined up before them didn't look nearly so innocent. The fact that Demon Hunters—including Kita and Seiko—came from Hell was finally starting to sink in for Ichigo. The general mood of the Diviners was ugly, and some of them looked really nasty—and definitely unhappy about being in a grimy basement in the middle of the Shinigami's powerbase. There was about an equal number of men and women, all of varying ages—though Kita and Nozomi looked the youngest with the exception of a solemn-faced, auburn-haired boy of about twelve. Crap, how did a twelve-year-old end up in Hell to be recruited as a Demon Hunter?

The rest of Shinigami seemed to be picking up on the dangerous mood of the Diviners. The Vice-Captains were at full attention, and the varying Seats were following their lead. Ichigo glanced worriedly at Yamamoto, Kyōraku, and Ukitake, but they, at least looked calm.

"Diviners," Kita said in a ringing voice, drawing herself up to her full height. "I imagine you're wondering why you're here."

"And why we had to leave our Hunters behind," Nozomi added, lifting her eyebrows.

"I asked you to leave your partners in Hell because I do not have direct authority over them, and I have called you without the knowledge of our Captain—or the Diviner-Commander, or the Warlord."

Astonishment and curiosity flickered across the faces of most of the Diviners.

"Yesterday morning," Kita continued, "Diviner-Commander Ito Shoku came to Soul Society where I was stationed on the Warlord's orders. In a well-planned ambush, he attacked me with lethal intent. If not for the healing abilities of this human girl"—she gestured to Orihime—"I would be dead now."

Hayate's face hardened, while Nozomi's eyes blazed with outrage.

"Then Commander Ito," said the twelve-year-old Diviner in a high, clear voice, "is our enemy."

"He is _my_ enemy," Kita corrected. "Whether you choose to make him your enemy as well is your decision. I do not know if Ito was acting on his own. By following me, you could be betraying the Yokujin."

"Our enemy," the boy repeated with a nod as though Kita hadn't spoken.

"Yep," agreed Nozomi.

"Whether he was acting alone or not doesn't matter. If the Diviner-Commander is killing his Captains, then I'm taking whatever side he isn't on," Hayate said coldly.

The other Diviners spoke up with their agreement, and Ichigo was pleasantly surprised by their loyalty. There were a few in the group who, going by appearance alone, he wouldn't trust for half a second with his back turned.

"So are we defecting then?" Nozomi asked eagerly. "Are we going to hide out in Soul Society as renegade deserters and plot our revenge on Hell?"

Seiko snorted.

"No," Kita said. "We're here to do our jobs." Begging the patience of the Shinigami, she briefly outlined the events that had brought them to this moment. Ichigo tried not to squirm at the stunned, thoughtful looks he got when she told the Diviners about his visit to Hell.

"So," she concluded, "we have just over fifty minutes to prevent Seireitei's destruction and save the eldest demon prince, the ruler of Hell, from assassination."

There was a long moment of silence.

"_Why_?" asked a tall, gaunt woman at the back of the line of Diviners. "Who cares about Seireitei and the Shinigami? I don't. Let the demon princes have their little war."

Ichigo's hands clenched into fists as a subtle wave of restless, angry movement swept through the gathered Shinigami.

"Because," Kita said loudly in a voice like ice, "it's what we do. We keep demon influence in Hell and out of the other worlds. If that's not why you're here, then you can get your cowardly, selfish face out of my sight and out of my squad!"

The woman hunched her shoulders and muttered an apology. Kita gave her one more glacial stare before continuing.

"The plan is thus. The Shinigami will break down into small groups and one of you are going to lead each team—in stealth—to the most powerful demons and aid them in killing those demons. We must take out as many of the most powerful demons as possible before they realize they're being hunted and go on the attack.

"You will move in a circle formation with the destruction spell at the center, spreading outwards without weakening the defensive line. You're to keep any demons from getting behind your lines to interfere with me while I dissolve the spell. Once the demons realize they're being attacked, they will come to you. The circle must be held because I will have minimal defences while I work the counterspell.

"The demons hiding in the city don't know you're here. To keep it that way, you'll all dress as Shinigami. Our plan hangs on the success of this subterfuge."

The Diviners nodded their understanding. Kita turned to Yamamoto. "There are three Class 2 demons guarding the courtyard with the spell. They need to be taken out first, so we'll need three teams with your best fighters."

The Old Man nodded, pausing for a moment to consider. "Shunsui and Jūshirō. Captain Zaraki and Captain Soifon. Captain Kuchiki and Captain Hitsugaya. The other Captains and the Vice-Captains will lead the remaining teams."

Tōshirō cleared his throat. "Captain-Commander, with all due respect, I believe I would serve better as Captain Matsuo's guard." When Yamamoto looked at him, he went on quickly. "Her role is crucial, and of all the Captains, I have the most experience fighting demons so far."

"True," Yamamoto agreed.

Ichigo folded his arms across his chest. "I'll take Tōshirō's place with Byakuya," he offered.

"Done," Yamamoto said.

"Hayate," Kita said, waving her Vice-Captain forward. "You'll go with Ichigo."

The young man grinned roguishly, offering his hand to Ichigo to shake. Ichigo returned the grin.

"Nozomi, I'd like you to go with Captain Soifon."

Nozomi looked at Ichigo, then at Soifon. "But _why_?" the young woman whined, her lower lip thrust out in a pout.

"Because I don't like Captain Soifon," Kita muttered so only Ichigo and Tōshirō could hear. Ichigo choked on a laugh.

"I'll take Miss Nozomi for my team," Kyōraku offered guilelessly, beaming at the luscious Diviner. Nozomi's eyes snapped to him and she immediately perked up.

"No, I don't think so," Kita said flatly. "I'd like you to take . . ." She surveyed the waiting line of Diviners. "Suisei, come here."

With a soft sort of smile, the small boy-Diviner detached himself from the line and tread over to stand beside his Captain. He smiled sweetly at Kyōraku and Ukitake, who both looked back at him blankly.

"Suisei, you can Divine for these two Shinigami Captains. Try not to shock them too much."

"Yes, Captain."

Seiko snickered, amusement written all over his face. Ukitake frowned unhappily, while Kyōraku looked uncertain.

"Captain Matsuo, are you sure—"

"Yes," she interrupted, her voice hard. "I'm very sure. You'll be very sorry if you underestimate him, so don't."

Suisei smiled.

Ichigo shivered at the sight of that smile for no reason he could determine. To distract himself, he stepped over to Seiko. "Are you going to be guarding Kita along with Tōshirō?"

"Damn right I am," he said gruffly. "The little twerp of a Captain is a tough and all, but I'm not trusting the job to anyone but me."

Together they looked over at Kita, where she was directing Diviners towards different groups of Shinigami as the remaining unassigned Captains and Vice-Captains selected team members.

"Do you really think this is going to work?" Seiko asked in an undertone. "Most of these kids don't know the first thing about fighting demons."

Ichigo was silent, his stomach tightening as his eyes swept over the familiar faces of his friends mixed in with the multitude of Shinigami. Anticipation, anxiety, and concealed fear shone in their eyes, but most of all, determination burned in every gaze.

"It has to work," he said finally. "It has to . . . because failure isn't an option," he finished, borrowing Saiu's phrasing.

They couldn't fail. It wasn't even a possibility, because they—he—wouldn't allow it. Because if they failed, it would be the end of everything. They would save Seireitei or die trying—because until the spell was stopped, they were all the walking dead anyway.

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**. x : X : x .**

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**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

So late! My apologies for the long, long wait for this chapter. My holidays were very busy—I had a great Christmas though! My brother gave me a teddy-bear-sized Ichigo plushie. It now scowls at me from the corner of my desk while I type on my laptop. Hehe.

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**GLOSSARY:**

**Nozomi **- "Hope".

**Hayate **- "Smooth".

**Suisei** - Literally, "strength of a river's current".


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer: **Bleach does not belong to me, but Nakita, Seiko, Saiu, Shoku, Aranami, Nozomi, Hayate, and Suisei do.

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**DEVIL'S SMILE**

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**Chapter 22**

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Ichigo flinched as the first raindrops struck his skin, icy cold against his cheeks. He sighed, resigning himself to a soaking as the light patter of droplets gained strength until the nearby buildings were hazed in the thick, steady fall of water. The clouds were dark and heavy, hanging so low over their heads he wouldn't have been surprised to see the tallest towers of Seireitei vanish into the mist.

At the thought, he craned his neck back to squint through the curtain of rain towards the cluster of tall while structures at the center of the city. The narrow ally through which Hayate was leading them blocked his view of everything but the jagged cliff where he had used his bankai in battle for the first time against Byakuya.

He tipped his head to one side to make his neck pop and looked ahead to where Byakuya followed behind Hayate, irritation in every line of the Captain's walk. Feeling Ichigo's eyes on him, Byakuya glanced back, his bangs plastered to his dripping face in a most undignified way. Ichigo grinned impudently and ruffled a hand through his short orange hair, sending water flying and making the wet locks stand up in spikes—spikier spikes than usual, that is.

Byakuya gave him a look of deep disgust before turning back to watch where Hayate was leading them. Ichigo trotted a few steps until he was almost on Byakuya's heels, peering over the Captain's shoulder at the Diviner.

"How's it going, Hayate?" he asked loudly over the patter of rain.

Hayate flashed him a grin. "Got a lock on the one we want." He glanced down an intersecting alleyway as they moved through the maze of backstreets that had proved so useful on Ichigo's first visit to the city. "I'm just having a little trouble finding a way over to the demon," he added sheepishly."

They splashed down several more narrow streets. The rain came down harder, forming large rippling puddles among the stones of the street. At last, Hayate came to a halt.

"Okay," he said in a low voice, forcing Ichigo and Byakuya to lean close to hear him. "The Class 2 demon is just ahead, about fifty yards. It hasn't noticed us. These damn streets are so narrow, I want to get one of you on either side of it so you can attack together.

"Are you going to do that Kidō-silencing spell so it can't blast us with magic?" Ichigo asked, remembering Kita using it on the last Class 2 he'd fought.

"You bet," Hayate said with a quick grin. "Ichigo, you wait here. Captain Kuchiki, I'll get you in position on its other side, then I'll cast the spell. It'll take me a minute, but once the spell hits the demon, its invisibility spell will break—so when you see it appear, that'll be your signal to attack."

"Got it," Ichigo said. Byakuya nodded, for once refraining from making some sort of condescending remark to Ichigo. Judging by the tightness of his jaw, Byakuya was too focused on the coming battle to complain about having to fight side-by-side with a 'second-class' substitute Shinigami.

Ichigo pulled Zangetsu off his back, shaking the wrap loose when it stuck to the blade, too wet to unravel. Hayate and Byakuya vanished down another dark alley, leaving Ichigo alone in the dim light and cold rain. He sighed again, squeezing some of the water out of his sleeve with his free hand. The weather, as unpleasant as it was to stand outside in, was actually to their advantage, concealing their movements from the demons and covering the sounds of the coming battles. He still didn't like it.

Narrowing his attention to the alleyway in front of him, Ichigo squinted into the watery curtain, wishing he could see the demon. He didn't like being blind. Nervousness prickled in his stomach, sending a shiver though him. What if the demon changed locations while Hayate was still getting Byakuya into position? What if Ichigo was too far away? What if he wasn't able to see, hear, or sense Hayate invoking the Kidō-dampening spell?

Another shiver ran though him, and the rain felt like a thousand needles of ice hitting his bare skin. His clothes were dragging at his limbs, weighed down with freezing cold water. His eyes darted up and down the alley, his muscles quivering. This was stupid. They shouldn't have separated. The empty alley yawned ahead of him like an endless dark tunnel, a pathway into the abyss. He started to shiver more violently, his stomach clenching with dread—why had they left him here by himself? He didn't want to be alone, damn them!

With a hiss of evaporating water, the demon mark on Ichigo's left arm came to life, blazing reddish light that reflected off the countless streaks of falling rain to make a thousand flickering red stars all around him.

He blinked down at the mark, momentarily taken aback. There was a demon nearby? It was close—way too close if it had triggered the mark. Fear flooded through him, sending his thoughts reeling into disarray. Where was Hayate? Where was Byakuya? He couldn't fight it all by himself!

As panic clutched at him, threatening to blank his mind and overwhelm his ability to reason, the demon mark gave a pulse of warning, and Zangetsu warmed in his hand. Ichigo grabbed hold of his panic and shoved it away. Damn, it was the demonic aura of the Class 2 driving his fear to the level of terror. How close _was_ the stupid thing?

His demon mark flickered again, and Ichigo whirled around, reacting to an impulse he didn't recognize or pause to analyze.

Pain ripped through his shoulder as a set of claws raked over his right bicep—a blow that probably would have cut deep into his chest if he hadn't turned. Ichigo slashed Zangetsu around in front of him—but he couldn't see what had struck him. Where was the demon? He spun in a circle, staring at the empty street. Where was it!

Cold, high-pitched laughter stabbed into his skull, bouncing off the walls until he couldn't tell where it was coming from. His demon mark flared brightly, and something hit Ichigo from behind so hard that he was flung headlong into the wall in front of him.

He crumpled to the street in a shower of broken tiles, unable to breathe for a terrifying moment. He staggered to his feet, bracing his back against the crumbling wall and lifting Zangetsu in front of him. Warm blood mixed with cold rain to run down his face from a cut on his forehead.

To his eyes, the alley was deserted. He couldn't see the demon, hidden from his sight with its magic, but he could hear its ghostly chuckles, the soft sound sending tremors of pain through his inner ears.

The Class 2 was right there in the alley with him. It was freaking right in front of him, and he couldn't see it. Where were Byakuya and Hayate? Had something happened to them? Why hadn't Hayate cast the silencing spell to stop the demon's magic and make it visible? Damn them both, where were they! How was he supposed to fight something he couldn't see?

"Byakuya!" he bellowed. "Hayate!"

The demon cackled loudly, and Ichigo barely managed to keep upright as the pain in his head tried to double him over.

"_No use_," the demon sneered.

Ichigo gagged on the agony of its voice, fighting not to black out. He blinked furiously to get the blood and rain out of his eyes—and noticed the air directly in front of him seem to shiver as the rain bounced off something solid—something solid that was otherwise invisible. Ichigo sprang forward, swinging Zangetsu with his eyes locked on the shimmering spot.

His sword swung through nothing—the demon had evaded easily. It was too fast, and he couldn't see it. Shit!

The demon let out a loud shriek of laughter. Ichigo's knees buckled involuntarily, and he felt the warmth of blood running from his ears. He lunged to his feet quickly, only to feel claws tear a burning line across his back. He staggered forward and spun around again, trying to spot that telltale shimmer.

Damn Hayate back to hell, where _was_ he?

"Hayate!" Ichigo yelled, desperately scanning the street for a sign of the demon. "Haya—"

The air whooshed from his lungs as what felt like a kick slammed into his stomach, flinging him back into another wall. He slid down it, mouth open for air that wouldn't come, his diaphragm paralyzed. He keeled over to the side, retching blood.

The demon watched, laughing to itself as it waited for him to get up again—so it could hurt him some more before it killed him.

Damn Hayate. _Where are you?_

* * *

**. o : O : o .**

* * *

Byakuya strode in the Diviner Hayate's shadow, his impatience growing with every step. He knew Hayate was leading him in a roundabout detour to the street where the demon waited so it wouldn't notice them, but he chafed at the delay. The Shinigami had but countable minutes left of their existence, and he, Byakuya, was wandering about Seireitei in the rain as though nothing at all was amiss.

"Are we close?" he inquired curtly when Hayate took what seemed to be another random turn.

The Diviner stopped, going very still. Byakuya halted as well, his senses on alert for danger. He gripped his Zanpakutō tightly, ready to draw.

"The Class 2 is on the move," Hayate said abruptly, turning to face Byakuya.

He stiffened, his nerves winding tighter. "Has it discovered Kurosaki?"

Hayate's eyes went distant, and Byakuya peered at the Diviner through the rain. Had his pupils dilated? It didn't look like it, but maybe Diviner Sight worked differently for different Diviners.

"No!" Hayate suddenly gasped, snapping upright with tension. "It's heading for—" His eyes went over Byakuya's shoulder. "_Behind you!_"

Byakuya whipped his sword free even as he pivoted. Blade raised defensively, he braced for an attack—and found himself facing an empty alleyway.

Instincts honed by hundreds of years of training and battles sent a jolt of warning deep in his bones, and in the same brief moment in which he'd turned, he twisted to the side—but not quite fast enough.

A jagged-edged blade tore deep into his back, missing his heart by a bare inch before the curved point erupted from his chest. Agony stole his breath away, but it didn't slow him as he slashed with Senbonzakura, forcing his attacker to withdraw.

He staggered as his adversary's weapon ripped free, taking a great deal of his flesh with it on its hooked teeth. Pressing one hand to the gaping wound in his chest, he turned until he could see his enemy face on, the attacker's jagged sabre dripping with his blood.

His eyes widened.

"You," he whispered.

* * *

**. o : O : o .**

* * *

The demon lord howled in fury as he crashed to the stone floor, bound so tightly in Kidō that it would take him hours to untangle it.

Saiu danced away from the demon's flailing tail, flitting down the long hall as the remaining two lords charged after him, leaving their comrade where he lay. Moving with a light agility, Saiu darted through an elegant parlour, his feet barely touching the floor and making no sound as he flashed across the room and fled down another empty hall.

The two demon lords trailed him, struggling to match their prince's speed. Saiu could have outpaced them in a straight run, but the twists and turns of the demon palace worked to his disadvantage, slowing him fractionally with every change of direction and preventing him from putting any real distance between him and the lords.

The demon lords, damn their arrogance, were certain now that Saiu would not attack them. To do so would play right into Aranami's hands, giving his brother the excuse he needed to detain Saiu and lock him up until it was too late to stop his attack on Soul Society. His restraint was making the demon lords bold—and far more bothersome than he would have guessed.

Saiu couldn't afford to play this game of tag any longer with the demon lords, but they would trail him, distract him, and delay him at every step if he did not remove them. If he couldn't kill them, then he would spin them up in Kidō bindings until they couldn't even squirm.

He ghosted from the hall into a large reception area, empty but for a dozen large decorative vases of black porcelain. Sweeping one hand though the air in front of him, he pulled power from his center and channelled it down his arm to his hand, giving it shape with no more than his thoughts. Human souls, limited as they were, were not able to use Kidō with such effortless fluidity. All demons—possessing a sufficient level of intelligence—could cast any magic that the Hunters knew as 'Lesser Kidō' with that level of ease. It was only 'Greater Kidō' that required some preparation on the demon's part to cast, while most human souls were entirely incapable of even the simplest of the Greater Kidō spells—even with Diviner's Sight.

A demon lord flashed into sight in the threshold of the hallway—to be met with Saiu's spell in his face. Forewarned by the fate of his already downed companion, he twisted away from the coiling, snake-like rope of teal-coloured light. It caught his wrist, looping with unreal speed up his arm and over his shoulder.

The demon lord grabbed the coil with his free hand and claimed the magic, unravelling it with his will and absorbing the power into his body. It was a little known but deadly power of all Class 2 and higher demons: the ability to absorb another's reiatsu and make it their own. Since Kidō was reiatsu given form, a skilled demon could reverse simple spells back into raw reiatsu and steal it for himself in the middle of an attack, thus negating the spell.

But that strategy worked both ways.

Saiu flung another coil of Kidō rope at the demon lord as though to try again to entangle him. When the lord grabbed the rope to unravel it and claim the power that formed it, Saiu flexed his grip on the other end, changing the nature of the spell in mid-cast. The rope flashed from the teal-blue of Saiu's reiatsu to the reddish brown of the demon lord's. With a small, serene smile, Saiu grasped the other demon's reiatsu with his will and _pulled_.

The demon shrieked in agony as his reiatsu was sucked out of him and down the glowing spell that connected them. It would normally require physical contact to absorb reiatsu directly from another's body; Saiu, however, was far more accomplished than that.

The lord collapsed to his knees, unable to bear the agony—a sensation rather like his blood and organs were being sucked from his body right through his skin and bones.

Saiu dissolved the spell and darted away as the second demon lord appeared in the room, a spell already glowing in his hands. The first struggled to stand, swaying severely with little more than a third of his reiatsu left. Saiu breathed a satisfied sigh as his body converted the stolen reiatsu, making it his own—not that he needed any more power.

"You are going to regret defying Prince Aranami," the second demon snarled, flexing his fingers as he frantically tried to prepare a spell strong enough to slow Saiu down.

Saiu tilted his head to one side, sweeping his hair away from his face with one hand as he smiled softly. "It is you who will know intimately every nuance of regret—once I have completed your education."

With a roar of fury, the demon charged, flinging his spell.

Saiu spun away, evading the rain of pointed energy-spears that might have succeeded in pinning him to the floor or wall—for perhaps a minute or two before he freed himself. As a distraction, the demons were adequate, but did they truly believe they alone could imprison him for more than a few minutes? Only from a spell cast by one of his brothers could he not free himself by simply blasting it apart with a surge of his reiatsu.

As he darted across the room to evade the energy spears, movement glimpsed from the corner of his eye brought his head snapping around. Eyes flashing wide, he sprang upwards—and felt the burning pain of powerful Kidō catch his ankle. Instantly he was jerked back down to the ground, slamming into the floor and staggering to his knees. Brutal, fiery pain devoured his right foot and ankle. He looked down.

A short, barbed harpoon of Kidō was embedded in his leg just above his ankle, the hooked tip protruding from the back of his calf. Attached to the opposite end of the harpoon was a thick chain of sickly, moss-green reiatsu that trailed across the floor and ended in the tight grip of the demon lord.

Saiu met the demon lord's triumphant eyes, keeping his own expression blank.

"Try to break that spell, my _prince_," the demon sneered. "I imagine you'll have more trouble with it than the last."

Saiu pushed himself to his feet, keeping his weight off his speared leg, which burned with sharp, cutting agony that went far beyond a flesh wound. He didn't need the demon lord to tell him that he couldn't break this spell, for he had immediately recognized the reiatsu of the one who had created the spell, stored it within the spell crystal now clutched in the demon's fist, and given it to his vassals so that they could indeed incapacitate a demon prince.

Aranami had created the complex binding spell that was now embedded in his flesh and slowly spreading its magic—and pain—through his body.

The demon lord pull back his lips, baring his pointed canines in an insolent smirk. "Got you now, little prince. You aren't going anywhere."

* * *

**. x : X : x .**

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Could it be? Yes, it is! An _early_ update! I'm hoping to keep updates on schedule as much as possible for the rest of the fic, but sadly, it's probably not going to happen—and not because I'm too busy or have writer's block, but because my precious laptop is very ill. I just finished reformatting it and it's still not better. It keeps flashing a blue screen with text on it then restarting. I can't get much writing done when I have to stop and save my document every three or four sentences, and then wait through multiple restarts in one sitting. My poor lappy-top... If only I could figure out what's wrong with it!

I've been on the lookout for some new music lately, and I was wondering if anyone could suggest any artists with songs of a similar sound to the second opening for Bleach? ("D-technolife" by UVERworld; I love that song to _death_.) I'm not entirely sure why it matters to my muse, but I like listening to Bleach-y music when I work on the story. :)

Should you have an extra minute, please review! Thanks!

* * *

**GLOSSARY:**

**Senbonzakura** ("_Thousand Cherry Blossoms_") - Kuchiki Byakuya's Zanpakutō.


	23. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer: **Bleach does not belong to me, but Nakita, Seiko, Saiu, Shoku, Aranami, Nozomi, Hayate, and Suisei do.

* * *

**DEVIL'S SMILE**

* * *

**Chapter 23**

* * *

"Bankai!"

Ichigo slashed Tensa Zangetsu through the dissipating swirls of dark aura that surrounded him, ignoring the painful pull on the wounds across his back.

"_Ooh_," mocked the invisible Class 2 demon, "_Bankai? Should I be frightened now?_"

Ichigo gritted his teeth, grimly enduring the stabbing, knife-like pain in his head that the demon's voice caused. Like the horrible thing needed any more weapons, what with its insane speed, unbelievable strength, unsurpassable skill with Kidō, a debilitating aura—oh, and did he mention invisibility? Yeah, that too.

Pulling in a deep, calming breath, Ichigo squinted into the rain, looking for his only clue of the demon's whereabouts: the faint shimmer of raindrops bouncing off its otherwise undetectable body. Undetectable until it hit, kicked, or clawed him, that is.

He felt the change in the air a fraction of a second before the demon struck again. He flash-stepped down the alley in the opposite direction, skidding on the wet ground as he slid to a stop twenty feet away. There was a scrabble of what sounded like claws sliding on stone, and a crunch as the demon smacked into the wall. Ichigo turned towards the sound, feeling a surge of near-euphoric hope and relief lighten his stomach—he'd actually managed to dodge its attack! Maybe this wouldn't be impossible after all.

A ferocious snarl echoed off the walls. Now the demon was pissed. Ichigo grinned tightly, lifting Zangetsu in front of him. _Come and get me, you bastard_.

"_Don't get cocky, brat_," the demon growled. "_You evade me once and think you've won? Ha!_"

Again Ichigo felt the demon right before its attack landed. He started to flash-step—and claws sunk into his right forearm, tightened, and flung him down the alley.

Ichigo slammed painfully into a stack of wooden crates piled against a wall thirty yards away. He scrambled from the mess of broken wood and scattered sacks of rice, but he'd barely regained his feet when a blow caught him across the side of his face, knocking him clean off his feet. He hit the pavement on his stomach with a splash. A foot slammed down on his back, pinning him to the ground.

"_Did you really think that was as fast as I could move?_" the demon demanded, crushing Ichigo into the stone paving. "_You have our prince's mark; don't you know anything of the power of our kind? As if _you_ stood a chance against me_."

Gasping for air, Ichigo struggled to throw the demon off him, but it just pressed down harder, cutting off his air entirely. Black spots danced across his vision and his head spun.

Reversing Zangetsu in his hand, he twisted his arm around to slash at the demon's ankles.

Its weight vanished from his back, and Ichigo sucked in air as he snapped to his feet. Whirling around, he lifted his Zanpakutō over his head.

"_Getsuga Tenshō!_" he roared, bringing the sword down to unleash a monstrous wave of red-rimmed black power that blasted down the street.

The explosive attack died to nothing at the end of the alley fifty yards away, and silence fell but for the loud patter of rain, the clatter of pieces of the destroyed buildings breaking apart, and the billowing hiss of steam—the blast had evaporated a good deal of water. Ichigo held himself still, staring down the street.

The demon mark on his arm flickered. Ichigo whipped around, swinging Zangetsu—and felt resistance as the tip of the blade caught something and tore through it.

Hot black blood stung his face as it splashed him, and the demon yowled with pain and rage. Unable to stop the involuntary reaction, Ichigo flinched back from the agonizing sound—and the demon hit him in the chest, sending him flying backwards.

"_Insolent dog!_" it howled.

Ichigo levered himself up with Zangetsu's help, wide-eyed as he searched for a sign of the enraged demon.

Light flashed to his left, and Ichigo spun towards it. Four pointed spears of glowing white Kidō slammed into him, flinging him back into the wall behind him. One pierced through each elbow and knee, pinning him to the wall. He squirmed, sending excruciating pain tearing through the joints but doing nothing to loosen the spears.

"_I'm going to rip you into pieces_," the demon snarled from somewhere in front of him, "_and feed my hell-hounds with your flesh_."

Ichigo tried to turn Zangetsu in his hand so it was at least pointed towards the demon, but his fingers had gone numb and the hilt tumbled from his grip, the sword clattering to the ground. Panic clawed at the edges of Ichigo's thoughts. He writhed violently, but to no avail. Shit, he was in big trouble now.

Illuminated by the light his demon mark was throwing off, the rain shimmered off the demon a mere five paces away. Ichigo strained against the binding spears but couldn't shift them, even when he threw the full force of his reiatsu at them.

"_Any last words, brat_?" the demon asked derisively.

"Bakudō #81," intoned a voice from somewhere above Ichigo. "_Danku_."

A thick barrier of shimmering, hazy blue light dropped down between Ichigo and the demon, curving to form a half-dome around Ichigo. The demon shrieked some kind of curse in another language, smashing against the wall of Kidō between it and the object of its rage.

"Kurosaki Ichigo." From the rooftop above him, a small form leaped to land lightly beside him. The boy-Diviner Suisei looked at him with concerned brown eyes. "How badly are you hurt?"

Ichigo gaped at the boy, for a moment unable to find a thing to say.

"Where'd you come from?" he blurted.

"Captain Ukitake was concerned by the fluctuations in your reiatsu and asked me to check on you," Suisei explained quickly. "When I Saw you battling the Class 2 demon alone, I came to help." His eyes darted away and back to Ichigo. "I must return to them quickly. Where is Hayate?"

"I have no freaking clue," Ichigo snapped, caught between anger and worry over the Diviner Vice-Captain's absence. "Can you get me down?"

Suisei nodded, murmuring a quick spell and completely ignoring the Class 2 demon on the other side of the glowing blue barricade, who by the sound of it was methodically slamming attacks into the barrier. The spell shimmered with each blow; it wouldn't last much longer.

The young Diviner pushed up the sleeves of his over-large Shinigami kosode and touched a hand to the spear in Ichigo's right shoulder, muttering the last bit of the spell. All four spears shattered, and Ichigo slid down the wall. His legs folded up under him when his weight came down on them, and his rear hit the hard stone street with a painful thump.

"Ow," he grumbled, rubbing a shoulder. The Kidō spears felt like they'd torn right through him, but though the puncture spots still burned, the spears left no trace of physical damage. He picked up Zangetsu, hefting its comfortable weight.

Suisei turned to face the invisible demon on the other side of barrier, his pupils dilating until the brown rim of his irises vanished. He cupped his hands, and glowing purple light filled them. He drew a half-circle in front of him and swiftly marked strange designs along its curving length.

The boy's light voice was hollow and toneless as he began to chant a new spell. His voice gained strength and power with each word until he was nearly shouting the last lines, his voice bouncing off the walls around them to fill the alleyway.

"Cry out, and release the weeping earth. Cry out, and sing the last flawless tear. Cry out, and let all be silenced!" He marked the final symbol and lifted both hands up in front of his chest—then flung them toward the unseen demon. "Bakudō #139. _Shizushizu nankainichiru!_"

With a blinding flash, a purple design appeared in midair—and in a swirl of multicoloured light the demon was revealed, the glowing symbol of the silencing spell affixed to its forehead.

The demon bared long yellowed fangs at them, glaring with those characteristic bright red eyes that lacked any visible pupils, irises, or sclera. Like the last Class 2, he was too human-looking to call an 'it', his bare chest sculpted with muscle, his dusky skin overlaid with dark stripes like a tiger—and a deep, oozing slash across his upper chest, compliments of Zangetsu. A long, furred tail lashed back and forth behind him, and his curled fingers ended in very nasty claws that Ichigo already knew were wickedly sharp. Cat ears with tufts of dark fur at the tips poked from his mane of black-streaked, sandy-brown hair. He wore a simple black hakama, and it looked like he had clawed paws in place of feet. Weird.

"I must return to Captain Ukitake and Captain Kyōraku," Suisei said. "They need my help."

"Right," Ichigo replied hastily as the Class 2 raked his claws across the barrier, making it vibrate. "But can you check on Hayate first? Are he and Byakuya in trouble or something? I was sort of counting on their help with this."

Suisei closed his eyes and opened them with his Diviner's Sight invoked. He looked south, eyes narrowing slightly, then going wide with shock. "What—? Hayate is—he and Kuchiki, they're—"

With a booming concussion of displaced air, the barrier shattered. Mouth open in a silent shriek of rage, the Class 2 charged at them.

"Go!" Ichigo shouted at Suisei. He caught the demon's slash on his blade, shoving hard to throw the demon back. "Get back to Ukitake! I'll take care of this one, and then find Hayate."

Suisei gave a quick nod and flash-stepped, vanishing from sight. Ichigo didn't bother to watch him go, his eyes locked on the Class 2, who had begun to circle, a lazy sort of smile pulling his lips off his fangs.

"So, cat-boy," Ichigo taunted with a smirk, pivoting slowly to keep Zangetsu between them. "How do you feel now that the odds are a little more even, huh?"

Cat-demon sneered, mouthing the word 'even' and pulling a face that clearly said, "Yeah right."

Ichigo snorted. "You asked if my Bankai should scare you, right?" Cat-demon lifted his eyebrows, his kitty ears pricking forwards questioningly. Ichigo grinned fiercely. "_This_ is what should scare you."

He lifted his left hand to his face, fingers curled with tension, and touched the well of dark power deep inside his soul. It rushed through his body, a raging black tide that burned his muscles and opaqued his vision before it stabilized. His reiatsu pulsed with the strength flowing through him, the dark, dangerous power that had cost him so much.

He lowered his hand, taking a moment to study the demon, conscious of the light weight of the Hollow mask on his face. Cat-demon stared, stunned and confused. Ichigo rolled his shoulders to loosen the muscles, crouched—and sprang.

Cat-demon backpedalled, just barely saving himself from losing his head. Zangetsu's tip dragged across the demon's chest just above his first wound, blood spraying in its wake. Ichigo completed his strike and turned, bracing one foot on a nearby wall and launching himself at the demon again. Again Cat-demon gave ground, springing backwards, his tail flailing as he fought for balance. Red eyes narrowed to slits, he slid around Ichigo's blade and brought his claws around, aiming for Ichigo's throat.

With an easy twist, Ichigo brought his foot up, slamming a kick into the demon's stomach. As the demon fell back, Ichigo smashed his left elbow into the side of Cat-demon's head, sending him crashing into the wall.

Cat-demon sprang from the rubble, face contorted with rage. The demon's movements became sharper, faster, and he attacked with such vicious ferocity that Ichigo was driven back. With each slash of the demon's claws, Ichigo slid aside, trying to find a gap in the demon's guard. They were evenly matched in speed, but the demon was just a little stronger physically—but Ichigo had more than a sword to fight with. All he needed was a chance to use it.

He lunged, trying to sink his blade into the demon's chest. Cat-demon jumped straight up in the air, landing on top of Zangetsu and forcing the blade down with his weight. Ichigo ducked, feeling the demon's claws catch on his hair as the Cat-boy went for his mask. Yanking Zangetsu out from under the demon's feet and throwing him off balance, Ichigo swung the sword up over his head—and pulled as much power into Zangetsu as he could.

"_Getsuga Tenshō!_"

He brought the sword slashing downwards, and his ultimate attack burst forth in an explosive roar of sound. The demon, two feet in front of him, had no chance to evade. With a catastrophic detonation, the bordering buildings exploded, blasted into fragments of debris that rained down on the nearby streets. Hissing steam ballooned out from the ruins, the rain and puddles evaporating instantly.

For a second time, silence fell. Ichigo wiped the rain off his mask, breathing hard. He waited a moment, looking for signs of movement among the rubble of the demolished buildings. Good thing part of the Captain-Commander's plan had involved the quiet evacuation of this part of the city.

Huffing a sigh, Ichigo hopped over the remains of the nearest wall and picked his way through the mess of broken stone and shattered wood towards the faint pulse of reiatsu. He paused, considered, then grabbed a hunk of wood with one hand and pulled it aside to reveal his fallen opponent.

Cat-demon bared his teeth, red eyes only half-focused as he tried to stand—and couldn't. Ichigo's attack at point blank range had been more than the demon could take, and his body was ravaged and bleeding. He still had all his extremities in tact, but barely, and thick black blood pumped from a gaping wound in his chest. All in all, this Class 2 wasn't as tough as the last one Ichigo had fought—and lost to.

"So," Ichigo said quietly, his voice husky and distorted by his Hollow mask, unfamiliar even to his own ears. "I guess I had a fair chance after all."

Cat-demon made a harsh noise, half-cough, half-snarl, and Ichigo noticed—belatedly—that his attack must have broken the silencing spell.

"_So . . . it would . . . seem_," Cat-demon forced out. His voice had no power left, and caused a mere hint of an ache in Ichigo's ears. "_What . . . is that mask?_"

"It's a Hollow mask," Ichigo answered shortly, not all that keen on explaining it. Lifting his left hand, he wiped the mask from his face, letting it dissolve into black smears of nothing.

"_Hmph_," Cat-demon grumbled, collapsing back into the rubble when it became clear he wouldn't be gaining his feet any time soon. "_I see now . . . why our prince . . . chose you._"

Ichigo sighed. "Yeah."

The demon convulsed, hacking and coughing for a long moment before slumping weakly. "_Would you hurry up?_" he snapped hoarsely.

Ichigo blinked. "Hurry up what?"

Cat-demon shot him a scathing look. "_I would rather not take all afternoon to die_."

Ichigo took a quick step back. "Whoa, hey, I'm not going to kill you."

A little more focus came back into the demon's eyes as he looked at Ichigo incredulously.

"I don't kill people who can't even stand up!" Ichigo exclaimed. "What kind of monster do you think I am?"

"_I'm not a person, I'm a demon_," Cat-demon retorted. "_What's the matter with you?_"

"What's the matter with _you_?" Ichigo shot back. "I'm not killing you!"

"_Heaven damn you!_" the demon snarled. "_I'd rather die cleanly in battle then get picked apart by the next stinking, slobbering beast that comes along. You defeated me, so it's your duty to damn well finish me off!_"

"Forget it!"

With a furious, high-pitched growl, Cat-demon managed to shove himself into a sitting position. "_You're the stupidest human I've ever seen!_"

"You're the stupidest demon _I've_ ever seen!"

"_Do you think you're being some kind of saint by sparing me? You're not doing me a favour, leaving me alive when I'm already half-dead!_"

"Considering that you have enough strength to yell at me, I don't think you're about to die right now anyway!"

Cat-demon blinked and looked down at his wounds. "_Huh. You may be right._" After a couple false starts, he managed to drag himself to his feet, swaying heavily. "_Damn human. Can't even kill me properly_."

"Why the hell are you so eager to die?" Ichigo demanded.

The demon looked at him with weary resignation in his eyes. "_I was defeated—by a human. Someone is going to kill me for it. Why drag it out?_"

Ichigo felt the beginnings of horror. "But that's—"

Cat-demon's head whipped around, his eyes going wide—and terrified. "_Impossible! What's_—"

The demon's whole body jerked, convulsing violently as something erupted from the center of his chest in a shower of blood.

Ichigo leaped backwards before he even understood what he was seeing, snapping Zangetsu up in front of him. Cat-demon gave another forceful spasm as the thing protruding from his chest retracted. With a quiet gurgle, he crumpled, his last breath sighing out as his eyes glazed with the white film of death.

A step behind Cat-demon's fallen form stood another demon, one hand raised with a fistful of shredded flesh still held in his claws. He opened his fingers and let the dripping gore fall to the ground—and Ichigo realized it was Cat-demon's heart, torn right from his torso from behind.

"What—what the hell did you do that for!" Ichigo shouted. "He was on your side, wasn't he?"

The new demon studied Ichigo with pupil-less red-eyes that were set on white sclera—more like Saiu's eyes than Cat-demon's. In fact, this demon looked almost as human as Saiu did, with spiky, acidic green hair and three sharp horns growing from his forehead right along the hairline. He actually looked sort of familiar . . .

"_Kurosaki Ichigo_," the demon whispered, casually flicking blood and bits of flesh from his claws. His lips curved up in a slow smile that made Ichigo's blood run cold. "_A pleasure to meet you at last._"

Ichigo inched backwards. He couldn't feel any reiatsu from the demon at all, but it had to be a Class 2—right? But this demon's voice hadn't hurt, and the only other demon Ichigo knew who could soften his voice like that was Saiu.

"Who are you?" he demanded, clutching Zangetsu with both hands. "How do you know my name?"

"_You_," the demon murmured with something close to relish, "_are my assignment, Kurosaki Ichigo. And, I dare say, my revenge._"

"Revenge? For what?"

"_Perhaps you remember my son?_" the demon whispered. "_He did drag you into Hell, did he not?_"

Ichigo's eyes widened, his heart stuttering as a wave of horror washed over him. The Class 2 that had led the first demon invasion of Seireitei—the demon Saiu had killed so he could take Ichigo for his own use. _That's_ who this demon reminded him of.

"Then—you're—"

"_I am called Chizome_," the demon said with a smile as dark and cold as the depths of Hell. "_Lord Chizome. I have been looking most forward to making you beg for death, Kurosaki Ichigo . . . but do not think that is a request I will grant. I am not nearly so soft as our young prince who spared you the true horrors of Hell_."

Ichigo backed up another step, eyes wide and unblinking as he fought down his terror.

_Lord_ Chizome. He was standing face-to-face with a demon lord . . . a demon lord harbouring a grudge who'd been sent to Soul Society for the sole purpose of killing him.

* * *

**. x : X : x .**

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Another timely update! I seem to have resolved (mostly) my laptop problems; as closely as I can determine, a faulty wireless card was causing the blue-screen shut-downs. Happy to have identified the issue, but cost me a fair penny to buy a wireless USB adapter to replace the faulty card . . .

On a chapter-related note, things don't seem to be going too well for poor Ichigo, do they?

If you happen to have a moment after reading, I'd love it if you could drop me a review!

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**GLOSSARY:**

**Tensa Zangetsu** ("_Heavenly Chain-Cutting Moon_") - The Bankai form of Ichigo's Zanpakutō.

**Danku** ("_Splitting Void_") - Bakudō #81: A Kidō spell that creates an energy barrier in the form of a rectangular wall, and is known to be capable of stopping destructive spells up to #89. *In this instance, Suisei cast the spell in a half-dome shape instead of a rectangle.

**Shizushizu Nankainichiru** ("_Quietly Die in the South Sea_") - Bakudō #139: A Kidō spell that seals a target's voice, as well as the target's ability to use Kidō.* (As compared to the spell _Yasurakananemuri_ "Peaceful Sleep" which seals voice but not Kidō.*)

*Denotes a non-canon term/concept.


	24. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer: **Bleach does not belong to me, but Nakita, Seiko, Saiu, Shoku, Aranami, Nozomi, Hayate, Suisei, and Chizome do.

* * *

**DEVIL'S SMILE**

* * *

**Chapter 24**

* * *

Byakuya pressed the palm of his hand into the wound in his chest, trying to stopper the flow of blood even as he used his reiatsu to slow the bleeding. It wasn't enough. He was still losing blood. By his estimation, he would lose consciousness in about fifteen minutes, and his heart would cease within twenty minutes after that if he didn't receive healing.

Which meant he had ten minutes to defeat his enemy and find help before the blood loss weakened him too much to fight—or escape.

As he analyzed his condition and formulated a plan, he kept his eyes on his foe, watching him, studying him—loathing him. His attacker watched him in turn, flicking his jagged-edged sabre free of bloodied raindrops.

Byakuya adjusted his one-handed grip on his Zanpakutō and narrowed his eyes against the rain pelting his face.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked coolly.

The Diviner Hayate lifted his sabre and slid his feet into a defensive stance. There was no sign of the cheerful young man Byakuya had thought him to be; instead, the man's youthful face was hard, his mouth a grim, angry line.

Hayate's upper lip curled. "You need to die," he said flatly.

"I could say the same . . . now," Byakuya replied, his voice dry. Blood trickled down his front and back, oozing from the gaping wound that had pierced right through his body. He could almost hear the ticking clock inside his head, counting down his last minutes.

"Have you chosen to join sides with your Captain-Commander then?" Byakuya asked, seeking to know how far the Diviner's treachery went—and how many other Shinigami should be watching their backs.

"I never betrayed Commander Ito in the first place," Hayate snapped. "Captain Matsuo is the traitor."

Byakuya's eyebrows lifted. "Is that so?"

"It's none of your business," Hayate said. "You'll be dead in a few minutes anyway. No one lives long after feeling Kuruijini's bite."

Considering the design of the weapon, Byakuya had to agree with the likely truth of that statement. The cutting edge of the blade was lined with curved hooks that curled back towards the hilt. The sabre's rounded hooks would do minimal damage on their way in; however, as Byakuya had experienced, they did ten times the damage on their way out, tearing through—or tearing out—anything those wicked little hooks could catch on.

Byakuya lifted his katana until the blade hovered vertically before his face. "Then I will have to kill you before then, won't I?" he said quietly.

Hayate's eyes widened.

"Scatter, Sen—"

"_Shakkahō!_"

Byakuya flashed-stepped a fraction of a second before the red blast of Kidō would have hit him. He gasped as agony tore through his chest at the sharp movement, slipping on the wet stones of the street. Hayate followed in his shadow, his weapon already cutting through the air.

With a low grunt of pain, Byakuya swept his Zanpakutō into the sabre's path, catching the blade. Hayate pressed him hard, forcing him back another step.

"You don't think I'm going to let you release your sword, do you?" Hayate panted, driving Byakuya back another step as their weapons grated on one another, the hooks on the Diviner's blade preventing Byakuya from sliding the sabre off his sword.

"_Tsuzuri Raiden!_" Hayate barked.

Sizzling lightening crackled down the sabre and over Senbonzakura, burning Byakuya's hand and searing his muscles as it shot up his arm. He sprang back, his burned, numb fingers nearing losing their grip on his sword.

Hayate charged after him. "_Haien!_"

"_Seki!_"

Hayate's purple fire blasted Byakuya's Kidō shield apart on impact, but it bought him the bare moment he needed to evade. Hayate lunged for his open side, and Byakuya was forced to duck and roll to avoid the strike.

"How did you do that?" Hayate demanded, slashing at Byakuya's face.

He slipped aside, panting from the terrible pain in his chest and the growing weight on his lungs as breathing became harder. "Do what?"

"I thought Shinigami weren't good enough at Kidō to cast without at least a partial incantation."

Byakuya blocked another slashing attack, falling back as Hayate's hooked blade almost pulled Senbonzakura from his grip.

"That was the first time I've done so," he admitted. "It did not seem to be that difficult."

Indeed, he hadn't even thought about it. He'd had no time to introduce to the spell with its type and number, so he'd simply cried out the name of the spell and cast it—and it had worked, if a little less effectively than usual. It was probably a good thing the shield spell had been such a simple, low-level Kidō, or he was quite certain it wouldn't have worked.

Hayate grunted, keeping tight on Byakuya and continuing to prevent him from releasing Senbonzakura. Byakuya retreated, feeling his strength draining away with each passing moment, with each shock through his arm as their blades connected and each flash-step he took that kept Hayate's weapon out of his flesh. If not for Hayate's cowardly first attack, Byakuya would have had the strength and speed to gain the few seconds he needed to use his Shikai—and then there would have been no contest between them at all.

He clutched his chest with his free hand as Hayate's blade swept downwards past the right side of his face, just missing his shoulder and tearing away the sleeve of his kosode. He couldn't draw a full breath, and his vision was losing focus.

Sensing weakness, Hayate bared his teeth in a grimace of concentration and lunged in close, swinging his blade to knock Senbonzakura wide. Taking a hand off the hilt of his weapon, Hayate extended his arm, fingers spread wide towards Byakuya's chest.

"_Geki!_" he shouted.

Red light blinded Byakuya and his body froze, caught in the spell of paralysis. Hayate drew back his arm, the point of his blade aimed for Byakuya's face. He thrust the blade forward in the final killing strike, and Byakuya could do nothing but watch death come.

"NO!"

The sabre's hooked tip caught Byakuya's cheek before flying wildly to the side as a dark form crashed full into Hayate, sending him sprawling. The newcomer rolled off him, scrambling to her feet.

"Hayate!" gasped the blonde woman whom Byakuya recognized as the 3rd-Seat Diviner Nozomi. "What have you done?" Her eyes darted from her Vice-Captain to Byakuya, bleeding and paralyzed with Kidō, and back again.

Hayate scrambled up, clutching his weapon in both hands, his expression twisted. "Nozomi—"

"Traitor!" she cried. "_Betrayer!_ How could you, Hayate!"

"No!" he yelled. "I'm not a traitor!"

"Then explain this!" she screamed back, her voice warbling with emotion. She pushed her dripping hair out of her face and gestured at Byakuya. "What by the four worlds do you think you're doing?"

"Matsuo is the traitor, Nozomi," he told her, his desperate need for her understanding obvious even to Byakuya. "She chose _them_ over _us_! Can't you see?"

"What? Chose who? What are you talking about?"

"_Them_. The Shinigami! She's sided with them. She's betrayed the Yokujin."

Nozomi's eyes went wide with incredulity. "Ito tried to kill her! What was she supposed to do? Did you honestly expect her to just pretend it never happened?"

"So she _says_. Commander Ito tells a different story. Nozomi, you must—"

"Hayate!" she gasped. "You—you've been _talking to_ _Ito_? You've been in contact with him?" Her face went pale and her voice dropped to a horrified whisper. "What have you done?"

Hayate looked half defiant, half afraid. "This isn't what it looks like, Nozomi. Please listen! This isn't some demon plot to kill the demon prince, this is Matsuo's plot to kill Commander Ito. She's recruiting the Shinigami against us—and you're letting her use you!"

"Hayate, you fool!" Nozomi cried. "You cursed fool! Ito is spinning lies, Hayate, he's trying to cover his ass and he's using _you _to—"

"You're the fool!" he yelled over her. "All you have to go on is Matsuo's word and the accounts of a couple blind, worthless Shinigami. Why do you believe her over our Commander?"

"Because she's my Captain!" Nozomi exclaimed, tears even more evident in her voice. "She's earned my trust a thousand times over, and I'd follow her to the demon palace and back again if she asked me. And Ito—he's a lying, sneaking, scummy bastard and everyone but you knows it!"

Hayate's face hardened. "It doesn't matter what you think. It's too late. Commander Ito already knows all about this plan of Matsuo's. It's not going to work."

Nozomi's eyes went wide again. "You _didn't_."

His mouth twisted with disgust. "Commander Ito is going to make sure these interfering Shinigami stay out of our business for good."

"What did you do, Hayate? _What did you do?_" she screamed at him.

Hayate stepped back from her rage, still defiant. "There won't be any sneaking up on the demons in the city. Commander Ito has already arranged everything. The demons know what's going on. They're going to wipe out every Shinigami that thinks—"

"No!" Nozomi gasped. "No, no, no! How could you, Hayate? Your own Company! You've killed us all!"

"The demons are only going for the Shinigami—"

"You're a blind, trusting fool a thousand times over! Damn you, Hayate, damn you to the pits of hell, you traitorous son of a bitch!"

Turning away from him in a swirl of blond hair, she sprang towards Byakuya where he was still trapped by the spell, too exhausted from the fight and his wounds to break the simple binding spell. With a quick word and a touch of her hand, she removed the paralysis Kidō. Byakuya staggered, his limbs quivering with blood-loss fatigue.

"Go quickly," she said to him. "Find your Commander—warn him, before it's too late for all of us."

"He's not going anywhere," Hayate snarled.

"What about that one?" Byakuya asked her, nodding towards the Diviner Vice-Captain.

Nozomi turned to face Hayate, spreading her feet wide in a fighting stance. She held her arms out and crossed her forearms to form an X parallel to her body, palms turned outwards. Dark amber light glowed in her palms. The light suddenly flared out in swirling lines that condensed and solidified to form two short, curved kodachi with gleaming two-foot-long blades and gold-bound hilts.

"I will take care of Hayate," she said quietly. "Kakan Sasayaki and I will take care of him."

Seeing the blaze of determination in her eyes, forged from the pain of Hayate's betrayal, Byakuya nodded. "Fight well," he murmured in parting, not knowing how she would fare against her own Vice-Captain, if she even stood a chance.

Turning with a graceless lurch, he braced himself, gathering his dwindling strength. Then he threw himself into motion, forcing every last ounce of speed out of his flash-step as he raced toward their hidden command point where Yamamoto waited. Fear weighed him down, swirling like a dark cloud at the edges of his consciousness.

Fear that he wouldn't get the warning out in time.

Fear that it was already far, far too late.

* * *

**. x : X : x .**

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The silence beneath the quiet roar of the rain was heavy and unnatural, winding tight nerves even tighter. Tōshirō stood, still and silent, at the north end of the courtyard where the spell that would destroy his home and his life's purpose grew in power with each passing moment.

At the south end of the courtyard, Seiko paced slowly, his long stride carrying him back and forth, back and forth in the rain. He carried no weapon, but Tōshirō knew he could call up his Akkihasaiki, the Hunter version of a Zanpakutō, just as fast as Tōshirō could draw Hyōrinmaru from its sheath. There was nothing else he and Seiko could do except wait—and watch.

Nakita had been in constant motion since they'd arrived in the deserted courtyard. She was prepping the dissolution Kidō, a complex, involved process. Tōshirō couldn't see what exactly she was doing, but he could feel pulses of reiatsu coming from her as she traced out some kind of enormous pattern or symbol overtop of the destruction spell.

Keeping a watch on her from the corner of his eye, he darted another glance to the west where he could feel worrisome fluctuations of a familiar reiatsu—Ichigo's reiatsu. Ichigo wasn't known for his spiritual control by any means, but part of their deception involved the Diviners of each team casting what Nakita called a Spiritual Disturbance Muffler, a spell that would mask and diffuse reiatsu within a certain radius, thus keeping the majority of the demons in the city unaware of the battles taking place. Ichigo's Diviner didn't seem to have cast the spell at all.

Perhaps even more disquieting was the wild flaring of Byakuya's reiatsu that Tōshirō had picked up—for if Ichigo wasn't much for reiatsu control, Byakuya was his exact opposite. And now Byakuya's reiatsu had vanished entirely, but Tōshirō couldn't tell if that was because Byakuya was badly injured or hiding his reiatsu—or both.

Frustration left a bitter taste in Tōshirō's mouth. Even if Ichigo and Byakuya were in trouble, Tōshirō couldn't help them. He was chained to the courtyard until Nakita finished her spell and saved Seireitei from destruction by Kidō—then he could help the others save the city from destruction by the invading demons. It was going to be a long day.

His eyes turned west again as he sensed two new reiatsu blaze in battle. Uneasiness uncoiled in his stomach. He didn't recognize the reiatsu, but neither belonged to a demon—another bad sign.

A light step behind him made him turn.

Nakita stood a few steps away, staring west as well, her eyes narrowed.

"That's Hayate," she said slowly. "And the other is—"

"Nozomi," Seiko said, his expression dark with anger as he joined them. "What the hell are they doing? Are they _trying_ to draw every demon in the city to them?"

Nakita's pupils dilated rapidly, her gaze going distant as she looked beyond the tangible world to something Tōshirō couldn't even imagine. He and Seiko waited silently, staring west and knowing that whatever Nakita saw, it wouldn't be good news.

"Hayate and Nozomi are . . ." Nakita sucked in a sharp breath, and Tōshirō saw something close to pain flash across her features. "They're fighting each other."

Tōshirō stiffened, turning to face her fully. "Why?"

"I can't tell," Nakita said tersely.

"Damn kids," Seiko growled. "What's wrong with them? Can't they save their squabbles for another time?"

Nakita shook her head. "This is no squabble. They're both _very_ upset—upset enough to kill one another." A considering look clouded her eyes for a moment. Coming to a decision, she looked at Seiko. "Go sort them out, would you?"

"Nuh-uh," he said immediately. "I'm not leaving you."

Irritated impatience flashed across her face. "There isn't a single demon within three blocks of here, Sieko, and Tōshirō will stay with me. We need all the Diviners we have. Do you realize that two of the three Shinigami Captain teams fighting Class 2 demons are doing it without a Diviners help? If the Captains are killed, those Class 2s are going to head straight for this courtyard. Not to mention that if they can eliminate the Class 2s, there won't be any demons to control the Class 3s, and, without direction, any semblance of tactical organization on the demons' part should fall apart—which we're counting on."

Seiko glowered at Nakita, evidently convinced but not liking it one bit, then turned that glower on Tōshirō. "Don't you dare take even one step out of this courtyard without her," he barked.

Tōshirō stared back coldly, not intimidated and certainly not willing to acknowledge the threat in Seiko's words—as if he needed to be threatened. He had no intention of leaving Nakita's side.

With an angry huff, Seiko flashed out of sight, his reiatsu so well suppressed that Tōshirō lost track of his progress within a few seconds.

Nakita sighed heavily, drawing his gaze to her.

"Do you have any idea what Hayate and Nozomi are fighting over?" he asked quietly.

Pain tightened her eyes. "I have my suspicions."

He read the answer in her expression. "Does Seiko know?"

She nodded. "He knows what he needs to do."

Tōshirō hesitated, then touched her arm lightly in sympathy. Seiko was going, not to break up the fight, but to find out which of the two Diviners had betrayed them, and to make sure the traitor was the one who died. He also knew that Nakita felt it was her responsibility to deliver an execution to one of her own, but she too was chained to this courtyard for as long as the destruction spell was still there.

As though reading his thoughts, she pushed her shoulders back, straightening out of a weary slouch. "Back to work then," she muttered, turning towards the center of the courtyard.

Tōshirō started tracing a wide circle around her, changing direction frequently just in case any demons were watching, waiting to attack. He didn't want to make it easy by following a predictable path where they could just wait until he was headed for the opposite end of the courtyard before striking. So he zigzagged back and forth around the perimeter of the courtyard, observing everything with his eyes and his senses.

After another long five minutes, Nakita called him over. She stood near the south end of the courtyard, her face tense. He could feel the faint hum of a prepared, uninvoked Kidō spell emanating powerfully from the center of the courtyard.

"Are you ready to start the dissolution spell?" he asked tersely.

He hadn't expected her to finish her preparations so quickly—_he_ wasn't ready yet. He knew as well as she did that the likelihood of her walking away after casting 200-level spell was slim to none. She'd never cast higher than #149 before.

She nodded, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "I'm ready for the next phase. I've set up a barrier spell as well. I'm going to seal myself in so nothing can get at me or distract me. I won't be able to see, hear, or sense anything outside it, and vice-versa. You won't be able to see me or communicate with me at all. So this . . ." She closed her eyes for a moment as though gathering her resolve. "So this is it."

He understood what she meant: this was her last chance for goodbyes.

"Right," he croaked around the sudden lump in his throat. He cleared it, angry at himself for getting emotional—which most definitely wasn't going to make things easier for Nakita.

She smiled a little, seeing right through his attempt at dispassion. Her wine-coloured eyes were bright and clear, lit with determination shadowed just faintly by sadness. He looked into her face and saw not a trace of fear. As always, she was fearless in the face of personal danger. The only times he'd seen any sign of fear from her was when someone she cared about was threatened.

"Tōshirō," she began, meeting his eyes. He tensed, knowing what was coming and hating it. He'd always hated goodbyes. Her gentle smile softened her face, taking him by surprise. She was so young. Barely older than he.

"As difficult as the last few days have been," she said quietly, "I'm really glad to have met you. It's been an honour to fight beside you. Thank you . . . for everything."

Her eyes dropped from his, and he knew she was thinking of the evening after Shoku had tried to kill her, when she'd told him the story of her past and they'd sat together for so long, comforted by nothing more than the understanding presence of the other.

The sudden urge to hold her, to physically shelter her with his strength, took him completely off guard. He rocked back on his heels before steadying himself. She looked up, meeting his eyes. Without stopping to think, he stretched out his hand. Her fingers met his, closing so tightly around his hand that it hurt. He squeezed back, holding on just as fiercely.

A quiver ran through her tight jaw, the only sign of her inner turmoil. He couldn't imagine walking to his own death. It was one thing to engage in battle against a superior foe, knowing full well that you might die—but you always had a chance of survival. You could fight, fight back as hard as you could. But there would be no battle for Nakita. When she cast the spell, she would be casting her life away with it.

But what choice did she have?

He opened his mouth, then shut it, jaw clenched tight. He was no good at talking about sentimental, emotional stuff. He never had been. Not knowing what to say, he said nothing, telling her with his eyes and his grip on her hand that he, too, was honoured to have known her and fought with her, and that he would guard her until his dying breath while she worked her spell. He wouldn't let her sacrifice be for nothing.

As he'd known she would, she saw what he said without words.

"Okay," she said, exhaling. "It's time. I expect—" She broke off, looking up. Her eyes went wide, horror paralyzing her for a fatal moment.

Tōshirō hurled himself forward, grabbing Nakita around the middle and flash-stepping with all the speed he could. They'd moved barely ten feet when the spot where they'd been standing exploded beneath the huge blast of Kidō that slammed down from the sky like a hundred lightning bolts combined.

The force of the explosion blasted him off his feet, throwing him and Nakita across the courtyard. They tumbled, rolling to an ungainly stop with Tōshirō sprawled across Nakita's legs.

"Ah, what a shame," called a hatefully familiar voice. "I was so touched by your sickeningly sappy moment there that I decided to kill you both at the same time, so you wouldn't have to suffer seeing the other die. Too bad I missed."

Tōshirō swung to his feet, and Nakita stepped up beside him. Together they faced the man standing just to the side of the steaming crater left by the Kidō blast.

Diviner-Commander Ito Shoku smiled mockingly. "Hello again, little Kita. I never thought I would be granted the pleasure of killing you twice. It would seem fortune favours me, wouldn't it? You and your Shinigami boy-toy, on the other hand,"—his smile grew vicious—"have no semblance of luck whatsoever, do you?"

* * *

**. x : X : x .**

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**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

I have to wonder just how much worse things can get for our heroes?

And another prompt update (Yay!) in spite of continuing, if relatively minor, laptop issues. Why on earth would my laptop's speakers refuse to emit any sound at all when the headphone jack works just fine? I don't understand computers at all . . .

* * *

**GLOSSARY:**

**Kuruijini **- Literally, "death in madness."

**Shakkahō **("Shot of Red Fire") - Hadō #31: A Kidō spell that fires a ball of red energy at a target.

**Tsuzuri Raiden **("Bound Lightning") - Hadō #11: A Kidō spell that creates an electric current which flows through any object the user touches and onwards, damaging any target that is in contact with the object the current runs through.

**Haien **("Abolishing Flames") - Hadō #54: A Kidō spell that fires a blast of purple spiritual energy which incinerates the target completely upon contact.

**Seki **("Repulse") - Bakudō #8: A Kidō spell that creates a small round shield which temporarily paralyzes and/or repels whatever strikes it.

**Geki **("Strike") - Bakudō #9: A Kidō spell that engulfs the target in red light and completely paralyzes them.

**Kodachi **- Japanese short sword similiar to a katana but with a blade approximately 2 feet long.

**Kakan Sasayaki **- Literally, "bold whispers."


	25. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer: **Bleach does not belong to me, but Nakita, Seiko, Saiu, Shoku, Aranami, Nozomi, Hayate, and Suisei do.

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**DEVIL'S SMILE**

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**Chapter 25**

* * *

He was not unfamiliar with pain, but this level of torment tested even his endurance.

Saiu closed his eyes and gave in, sinking to the floor. His breath whistled through his clenched teeth. It had spread already from his ankle up to his knee. His very bones were on fire, his muscles seared by acid, his flesh burning away. Of course, his leg was physically unaffected by the Kidō harpoon impaling it or the magic flowing from the spell, but his nerves could not tell the difference.

"Ah," sighed the demon lord holding the end of the chain attached to the harpoon in Saiu's ankle. "To see the demon princeling humbled. Aranami will be pleased."

Saiu opened his eyes and was unhappy to find that his vision would not focus. He blinked slowly.

Maybe what the demon lord said was true. Perhaps Saiu had been arrogant. He certainly felt unpleasantly humbled now that Aranami's spell was embedded in his limb and spreading its poison through his body. He'd underestimated Aranami's resourcefulness—and his determination to succeed with this plot of his. And succeeding he was.

The demon lords were conversing in low voices, but Saiu was having trouble focusing. He closed his eyes again and set about blocking the pain from his conscious mind. It was one of the most difficult tasks he'd ever undertaken. The agony of the spell seeped through his mind, another kind of poison, obliterating every thought. He bent his will to it.

"—sent it already," one of the lords was telling the other. "He said he would come as soon as Prince Saiu was incapacitated."

"Why didn't he confront his brother himself?" asked the other.

"Don't be a fool. The clash of their power would obliterate the whole mountain, the palace included. It could potentially destabilize the entirety of Hell if they were to actually fight one another. As much of a conceited brat as he is, Saiu is powerful enough to put up a decent fight."

The other demon snorted scornfully. "If you say so. Doesn't look like it to me."

"You _are_ a fool. Prince Aranami spent three days preparing this spell. Even a _prince_ can't pull off a spell this complex in the middle of a battle."

Saiu tuned them out, locking on one thought: Aranami was coming. He was coming. And Saiu was helpless.

"No," he whispered.

The demon lords fell silent. "Something the matter, prince?" one of them asked in mock concern. The other sniggered.

Saiu opened his eyes again and turned them on the demon lords. Their faces blanched. Saiu's dark irises brightened to gleaming blood-red, glowing as he gathered his power. The red orbs expanded, spreading across his white sclera until the entirety of each eye was unbroken, glowing ruby.

"No," he said again, a growl reverberating in his voice. "I will not."

_Not submit. Not yield. Not allow the likes of _them_ to defeat him. Never._

His eyes glowed brighter. "Surrender," he crooned softly. "Surrender to me."

And with a feeling of pleasant release, like relaxing a muscle long held tense, Saiu let his aura unfurl from him in a swirl of teal-rimmed black light.

The intoxicating weight of his aura flooded the room like a burst damn. The demon lords held against the irresistible tide for but a few seconds before they were swept under. Their eyes glazed and their faces slackened. They both sank to their knees before him, utterly passive, completely under his power.

"My prince," the stronger of the two breathed hoarsely, mindless adulation in his empty eyes. The second lord slumped to the floor, unconscious.

Saiu extended one hand. "Give the spell to me," he commanded.

Without hesitation the demon lord passed Saiu the end of the chain. Saiu tightened his fingers around it, sending a thread of his consciousness into the spell, feeling its construction. For a moment despair took him. If it had taken Aranami three days to make this binding, it would take Saiu twice that to undo it. The pain would overwhelm him long before that.

A shiver ran through him, the touch of death upon him. His fate was unchangeable now. He had dealt the last card in his hand, and Aranami had come out the victor.

Saiu clenched his teeth, closing his eyes to gather his strength, pushing away the despair. He had lost, but that didn't mean he would let Aranami win. After all—Saiu still had his trump card to play.

His trump card. Kurosaki Ichigo. If Ichigo and his Diviner succeeded in destroying the spell in Seireitei, Aranami would lose. Saiu had already lost, but he could still take Aranami down with him.

Jaw clenched against the pain, Saiu carefully regained his feet. He bent to wrap the remaining three feet of glowing green chain—as with most Kidō, it changed length depending on the will of its user—around his leg above the harpoon to keep it out of the way. Straightening, he worked for a moment to even out his breathing and clear the haze of pain from his thoughts. The conscious demon lord continued to kneel before him, gazing adoringly at his prince.

Saiu looked down at the lord, considering briefly what to do with him. Leaving him seemed foolish, for the effects of Saiu's aura would wear off shortly once there was enough distance between them. On the other hand—

Saiu started to tremble. He looked down at his shaking hands, the full red of his eyes widening as horror raced through him like ice. His breath came in gasps as pure, undiluted terror broke over him, obliterating thought and driving him towards a primitive fight-or-flight response. He fought it back, quivering in every limb.

"_Aranami_," he gasped aloud, struggling for breath as the terrible weight of his brother's reiatsu crashed down on him like the weight of a mountain.

The demon lord kneeling at his feet collapsed in convulsions, howling madly and tearing at his hair with his claws, red eyes rolling. Saiu staggered, thickening his own aura and reiatsu about him, his only shield against his elder brother's power.

Aranami was coming. He was close.

Saiu's aura had a unique and powerful effect, reducing its victims to mindless puppets in their yearning to please him. In comparison to Aranami's aura, Saiu's was gentle indeed. Aranami's aura produced such overwhelming fear—if such a weak word as 'fear' could describe that kind of all-encompassing, debilitating terror—in its prey that it drove them to madness in minutes. The only demonic auras that could break through Saiu's defences at all—let alone this fast—were those of his older brothers.

Saiu trembled, trapped in his own head for what seemed an eternity, too terrified to move. But he was no demon lord to be overwhelmed quite that easily, and with a huge effort he fought back the panic until he could think. And he did the only sensible thing left to him.

He fled.

Agony ripped through his leg and up his thigh with each step, slowing him far too much. Saiu flashed down the halls, away from the rapidly growing pressure of Aranami's reiatsu. He had to get out of the demon palace. He had to get away from his brother. The pain, as much as it hindered him, was his saviour now—with each tearing stab of torment, his fear-fevered mind cleared a little more, and his thoughts settled into quick coherency once again.

Suffocating, dragging reiatsu was inundating the palace now. Aranami had come for the kill.

Saiu flashed up a flight of stairs and down another hall. Aranami was following; Saiu could feel his brother's presence drawing nearer like the inevitable advance of a hurricane. He sped towards another stairway. As he wheeled around the corner and launched himself up the first step, his speared leg buckled.

He crashed down, his knee connecting hard with the stone. He choked, swallowing a cry of pain as the impact drove the levels of agony from the spell to a new level. Using his hands to push himself up, he hurled himself up the tightly spiralling stairs.

Up, up, up. He could feel Aranami approaching the bottom of the stairwell. Higher, higher. He couldn't think. The pain was blinding him. Up, up, up.

Aranami had reached the base of the stairs, moving too fast. Higher. Keep going. Don't slow down.

He burst from the doorway at the top of the stairs. The flat, circular roof of the tower stretched before him, and beyond it the black mountains of Hell raked the sky for as far he could see, silhouetted against a sky the colour of dried blood. Gasping for air, face contorted with the effort, he raced forward.

He was ten feet from the edge of the rooftop when his leg gave out.

Clutching his thigh, he tucked into a roll as he fell, a low gasping cry escaping him as he tumbled down, sprawling on the smooth, glossy black stone. His claws bit into his thigh as he curled around his leg, unable to think or move or even scream.

Heavy footsteps stopped a dozen paces away.

"Do you like my spell, little brother?"

Panting, Saiu managed to twist his head around to look over his shoulder, his hair tangled across his face. He couldn't bring Aranami's hulking form into focus.

"I invented it myself," Aranami continued. "The more you move, the quicker it spreads and the higher you drive the pain." Satisfaction coloured his voice. "I thought you would appreciate its complexity, its beauty. Do you, little brother? Appreciate it quickly, if you'd please. I have long waited for this moment. My patience dwindles."

Saiu forced his body to unclench, his eyes rolling back in his head as he struggled against the pain. Racked with shivering tremors, he pushed himself up on his hands and knees. He imagined Aranami was using his aura to try to pump Saiu full of terror, but there was no room in him for anything but pain now.

"What I don't understand," Aranami went on, "is what foolish impulse drove you to flee up _here_?" His glittering red eyes swept the barren tower top. "There is nowhere to go from this point except to descend again into the palace. You ran yourself straight to a dead end. What were you thinking?"

He couldn't stand. Saiu tried again to gain his feet, only to crumple. The agony of the spell had engulfed his entire leg, now clawing its way up and across his right hip, a raging inferno concentrated in his flesh and bones.

"Perhaps that in itself is the answer." Aranami took a few steps closer, eyeing his downed sibling with sadistic delight. "You _weren't_ thinking. Is the pain too much for you, little brother? Or was it my aura that drove you into a panic? What made you forget that this deep in Hell, not even _I_ can stand on air? There is no escape from here but a long, peaceful plummet to your death." He laughed nastily. "You would have had ample leisure time to consider your many foolish mistakes before you met the base of the mountain."

Saiu panted harshly, kneeling with one hand braced on his good leg. The demon palace was carved from the peak of a towering, sheer-sided mountain that stood alone in a sprawling valley—the proverbial Valley of Death, some said. The fall from this tower would take several long minutes, and the impact on the jagged boulders at the base of the mountain probably wouldn't be quite enough to kill a demon prince, but it would shatter every bone in his body and leave him helpless—far more helpless than he was now.

With herculean effort Saiu dragged himself up, balancing on his left leg. His right leg wouldn't hold any weight at all, but he still managed to stagger back several steps, keeping his eyes on his brother.

Aranami lifted his eyebrows, grinning nastily. "So. You've managed to stand. I was not going to wait much longer,"—he lifted both hands, palms up as though checking for rain, and three-inch-long talons extended from each thick finger—"but I wanted to watch your face as you die," he finished, his eyes burning with ugly anticipation. "I want to watch your eyes as I tear the life from your body."

The edge of the tower was three long steps away. Saiu held himself up through sheer force of will. So close.

"You," he whispered hoarsely. "You asked why . . . I fled to this place."

Aranami paused, a breath away from attacking. "And?"

Saiu inched backwards. The drop-off was close. So close.

"I was not . . ." He slid back another foot, keeping his eyes away from the edge, keeping them on Aranami. "I was not panicking . . . nor was I delusional."

"Oh? Were you planning to hurl yourself off the edge to end your pain then? Or to escape not the pain, but _me_?" Aranami laughed harshly. "I had not known you to be such a coward, little brother."

Saiu hobbled back another half-step. His heel struck the small lip around the edge, and he forced his face to stay blank, not to show the surge of relief that rippled through him. He pushed his shoulders back, straightening before his brother.

"I planned on neither," Saiu said coldly.

"Then why by the sweet dark of hell did you come up here?" Aranami demanded angrily.

It cost him dearly, but he smiled sweetly at his brother. "You should strive to keep your inflamed ego from clouding your thoughts, dear brother," he said. "It may cause you to forget important facts."

Aranami's face contorted. "Forget facts? Like _what_, pray tell?"

Saiu's smile became serene, almost blissful.

"Like what I am," he whispered. And he threw himself backwards off the tower.

The wind roared around him, tearing at his clothes and hair. Aranami's shrieking howl of cheated fury chased him down. Saiu let himself fall, eyes closed against the whip-like sting of the passing air. Weightlessness flowed over him, and the pain in his leg retreated fractionally. His breath slipped from him in a sigh.

_Don't forget. Never forget._

Aranami was a blind fool, but his blindness had saved Saiu. Had Aranami not been wrapped up in savouring his final triumph over his brother, he would have remembered, and he never would have let Saiu reach the tower top.

The more powerful a demon, the more human he could become in appearance. But this human-like form was little more than a disguise—or perhaps, in a sense, like a sheath. Their humanoid forms were sheaths for their power, just as a Shinigami's Zanpakutō had multiple levels of release. It was a waste of power to remain in one's fully released form at all times.

The more powerful a demon, the more complete of a sheath they needed for their power, so the more human they looked unless they needed that full power. Depending on their bloodline, different demons had different release forms. Saiu and Aranami, having different mothers, had completely different release forms. This is what Aranami had forgotten.

Saiu smiled into the wind—and released his power.

It burst from him in a maelstrom of black light edged in the dark teal-blue of his reiatsu. The midnight red orbs of his eyes swelled again to full, glowing crimson. Black wings sprouted from his back, spreading wide to catch the wind. Their curved ribs flexed as the leathery span between them pulled taught. His long, spear-tipped tail whipped out behind him, guiding his dive. His horns extended to a hand-length, sweeping up and back from his temples. His dark claws lengthened to rival Aranami's, and his feet changed below the ankle to sport four powerful, flexible toes with long, lethal talons.

With smooth grace, Saiu pulled out his dive, gliding effortlessly away from the palace. He permitted himself one quick glance backward, where the tall tower from which he'd thrown himself was silhouetted against the sky, already a half-mile distant. Atop it was the small form of the second demon prince, watching his younger brother's escape with indescribable rage. Saiu could feel the burning pulse of Aranami's unleashed reiatsu even from that distance.

Wings spread wide on either side of him, long tail trailing behind him, Saiu relaxed against the pull of wind flowing over and around him. In spite of it all, he felt elated in flight, weightless and free of everything. Aranami may have inherited their father's more powerful release form, but Saiu wouldn't trade his for the world.

Bringing his thoughts back to the present, he glanced at the dangling chain of the harpoon spell. It had come unwrapped from around his leg, and it swung out behind him in the wind. With each swing, it tugged the harpoon embedded in his ankle, sending shockwaves of agony up his leg. His elation faded.

In a direct confrontation with his brother, Saiu would inevitably lose—even at full power. Aranami was by far the more powerful warrior. With this cursed spell in him, Saiu wouldn't last more than a few seconds against Aranami. Unless Saiu fled to a distant corner of Hell, he would never be able to break the harpoon binding spell before Aranami caught up with him. And Aranami would not hesitate again to rip the life from Saiu in an instant.

Saiu couldn't flee, couldn't save himself. He wouldn't. He had to ensure his trump card was a success. If Aranami's plan succeeded, if he killed Shiose . . . If that happened, Saiu would be grateful for death. He would rather die than watch the four worlds descend into chaos followed by an eventual, irreversible spiral of self-destruction under Aranami's tyranny—not that Aranami would let Saiu live long enough to see it.

With a tilt of his wings, he angled towards the low-hanging sun and gauged his distance from the demon palace. Satisfied, he cupped his hands, filling them with the green light of a teleportation Kidō. Many kinds of Kidō were blocked within a mile of the demon palace by dampening spells, teleportation included. Saiu felt a grim pleasure. Aranami would be hard-pressed to follow him now.

The light of teleportation rippled over him, filling his vision with green. By his reckoning, there was a scant thirty minutes left until the destruction spell in Seireitei was ready. He would be cutting it close to reach the city with enough time to make a difference.

The spell took hold, pulling him through the essence of space, across hundreds of miles in an instant.

He would be cutting it very close indeed, because he had one stop to make before he paid a visit to Soul Society.

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**. x : X : x .**

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**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Thus far, I've tried to avoid (for the most part) entirely OC chapters where no canon characters are present, as I know that many readers are not big on OCs. However, this chapter sort of ran away with me, and I felt it would take away from the suspense to break it in half for two different chapters. I hope that Saiu was intriguing enough to make this chapter entertaining, even if it might not have been everyone's first choice for chapter content. I sure had fun writing it, at the very least! :D


	26. Chapter 26

**Disclaimer: **Bleach does not belong to me, but Nakita, Seiko, Saiu, Shoku, Aranami, Nozomi, Hayate, Suisei, and Chizome do.

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**DEVIL'S SMILE  
**

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**Chapter 26  
**

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Rubble crunched noisily underfoot, stone grinding on stone, wet wood splintering, roofing tiles cracking. The rain roared quietly in the background over it all, and the dark, heavy sky hung low over him, casting a twilight-like gloom over the Shinigami city.

Seiko ducked under the remains of a collapsed wall, propped unsteadily on its still-standing counterpart across the narrow alley. Kicking a wooden beam aside, he moved into the slightly more spacious but equally demolished square of space where the alley intersected a wider avenue. He paused in the dark shadow of the half-collapsed wall and surveyed the small battlefield.

Aside from the almost complete destruction of everything nearby, the square seemed deserted. The sheer level of damage suggested a ferocious battle of two powerful forces. Face grim and heart heavy, Seiko turned towards the faint sounds of claws on stone.

A short ways down the wide avenue, four or five snake-imps were crowded around something near one of the still upright walls. The small demons babbled to one another in their high-pitched, squealing voices as they darted back and forth, lunging with vicious swipes of their claws at whatever they'd cornered.

Holding his hand out from his side, Seiko summoned Reppai in a swirl of light, hefting the giant broadsword easily.

It only took a few minutes. When the five snake-imps lay dismembered and decomposing in the rain, he faced the weakly shimmering barrier that the small demons had been attacking, behind which a Diviner was barricaded. Judging by the tired ripples in the shield, another few minutes would have seen the snake-imps feasting on a defenceless victim.

The barrier gave another weak flicker and dissolved.

Nozomi looked up at him with a face streaked by blood and rain. She was propped against the wall, both blades of Kakan Sasayaki held out before her in hands that trembled—from pain, fatigue, or anguish, he couldn't tell. Her right foot was braced against the road, ready to push her up, but he doubted she'd be able to stand. Her left leg was stretched out in front of her, most of her hakama's leg torn away to use as a binding on the wound across the large muscle of her thigh.

He glanced briefly at the injury, her worst that he could see. Even wrapped tightly in the black material, the wound leaked a steady flow of blood to join the rivulets of rain beneath her. Knowing the nature of Hayate's weapon as he did, Seiko had a pretty good idea what such a wound would look like beneath the makeshift bandage.

Nozomi stared at him, her eyes slightly unfocused and pain twisting her features. Beside her, limp and unmoving, lay Hayate. The puddles surrounding him were scarlet with blood.

"I couldn't . . ." Nozomi said in a voice that trembled violently, nearly incoherent. "I couldn't let the imps get him, tear him up . . . eat him . . ." Tears tracked down her face with the rain. "The damn fool was always too trusting. How could he?" she asked, a plea in her voice. "How could he believe Ito over Captain Matsuo? Over us? Over me?"

A shudder ran through her, and her kodachi dissolved into shimmers of amber light. Her shoulders slumped forward, her empty hands falling into her lap. "How could he make me kill him?" she wept.

Exhaling slowly, Seiko let his weapon dissolve back to nothing. Kneeling, he took Hayate's shoulder and rolled him over, casting a brief, appraising eye over the Vice-Captain's wounds. His eyebrows lifted.

"Hmph," he grunted. "The little bastard isn't quite dead yet."

Nozomi choked back another sob, lifting her head. "He isn't?"

"At the moment, no. Not long for life though. You did a good job on him." Huffing in exaggerated annoyance, Seiko stood up, grabbed the front of Hayate's kosode, and heaved the unconscious man's limp form up and over his shoulder. Adjusting the restricting weight, Seiko leaned down a little ways and offered his hand to Nozomi.

"C'mon, Zomi," he said gently. "Let's get this light-cursed fool back to base. That human girlfriend of Ichigo's is an amazing healer. She'll set you and Hayate right."

Nozomi stared up at him. "Do we want to set Hayate right?" she whispered.

Seiko snorted. "Yeah, we do. Me and Kita both wanna tear a couple strips off him before his dishonourable discharge from our Company. He can do whatever the hell he wants after that."

Her lips twitched in a small smile, and she grasped his forearm. He pulled her to her feet, steadying her as she wobbled on one leg. He wasn't pleased to see the rest of her injures. It had been a close fight indeed.

She gave her head a little shake, water flying from her hair. She glanced around, then frowned at him. "Aren't you supposed to be guarding Captain Matsuo?"

"Yeah, but that little icy Shinigami Captain is with her. He'll do until I can get back there." He hesitated. "She doing alright?"

Nozomi's pupils dilated with her Sight. "She's fine. She—" Her brow wrinkled and she was silent for a moment. She gave her head another shake. "No, she's fine. I thought I saw . . . but there's nothing there, just Matsuo and Hitsugaya."

"How about the others?"

Another pause. "Suisei is with his team . . . but they're fighting more demons than just their Class 2. Damn Hayate," she added in a growl. "And—" She gasped, paling drastically.

"Nozomi? What it is?" he demanded.

"Kurosaki Ichigo," she breathed, clutching one hand over her heart.

Seiko stiffened. "He's not dead?" he demanded.

"N-no. But . . . He's . . ." Her wide, horrified eyes lifted to his. "He's in really big trouble."

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**. o : O : o .  
**

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He ran.

His breathing was rough and urgent, tearing at his throat with each gasp. Ichigo fled down street after street, fury and fear warring in him, and underneath it all was unchecked terror. He hated running away. Hated it, hated it, hated it.

But he had to lead the demon lord as far away from everyone else as he could. As far away from Kita and her counterspell. Deep down, unacknowledged but there, he was grateful for the excuse to run. Fear choked him. Zangestu seemed to throb in his hand, sending little zings of power to sting his palm with each cowardly step he took away from his foe.

Chizome was flitting along behind him, unseen but too close, drinking in Ichigo's panic, revelling in this mockery of a chase. The demon lord could have caught up to Ichigo with no effort at all, but Chizome wanted to drag out his revenge, wanted to torment Ichigo emotionally before he even began to torture him physically. The panicky, hunted feeling in Ichigo's head bubbled, pushing away rational thought.

He swore under his breath, leaping a low wall and flash-stepping a few blocks. He could feel Chizome behind him like a swirl of ice and darkness, hovering on the edges of his senses—and then the demon was gone.

Ichigo skidded on the wet road, scrambling for purchase. Chizome appeared in front of him, just appeared. Ichigo couldn't tell how he moved, whether with Shunpo or Sonído or something else; the demon lord was just _there_.

Backpedalling, Ichigo lifted Tensa Zangetsu in front of him, clenching his hands around the hilt so they wouldn't tremble.

"Oh?" Chizome murmured, using that painless, almost human tone of voice. "Are you finished running?"

Ichigo glanced around. They were in the far north end of Seireitei, surrounded by uninhabited storehouses. His fingers gripped his sword harder. Nowhere else to run except into Rukongai, and that would just get lots of innocent souls killed.

He bared his teeth at the demon. "I wasn't _just_ running away," he snapped, ignoring the little voice in his head that scathingly disagreed.

The demon smirked. "Ah, yes. Leading the dangerous demon lord away from your friends? How . . . gallant." He flicked his green hair off his face. "I, too, would prefer not to be interrupted."

Ichigo swallowed hard. No fear. No fear. He thickened his reiatsu, ignoring the flickering light from his demon mark as it pulsed in unneeded warning. No fear.

"You should be afraid," Chizome whispered.

Ichigo's face blanched. Could the demon read his thoughts?

"Your thoughts are written all over your face," Chizome continued with a sneer. "You are but a child to me, Kurosaki Ichigo. Every Shinigami here is a mere fledgling. I was an experienced warrior while your people were just beginning to build cities. You have been fighting battles for what, a handful of years? I have been fighting against far superior foes than you for _millennia_."

A shiver ran through Ichigo . . . and then he steadied. Perhaps it was Chizome's taunts, perhaps an acceptance of his fate, or perhaps he had just overloaded on fear and gone numb, but his mind emptied, calm sweeping through him. His breathing evened out and his heartbeat settled into the quick drumbeat of battle. Ichigo looked at Chizome with a clear mind, analyzing, preparing, ready.

Chizome's eyebrows lifted as he saw the change in Ichigo. "Oh?"

Ichigo exhaled slowly, sliding thoughtlessly into a defensive stance, his eyes on his foe. No fear. And this time he achieved it. No fear. Hadn't he fought opponents that completely outclassed him before? Hadn't he faced hopeless battles before? It didn't matter that Chizome was more powerful than him, a thousand times more experienced. Ichigo had to win this fight—so he would.

"Hm," Chizome mused. "You are, perhaps, not quite the child I thought." He tipped his head to one side. "No, you are not a child—but still a fool."

Ichigo whipped his free hand up to his face and summoned the dark power within. His Hollow mask flowed over his face as Chizome launched himself forward in a lightning-fast charge. As the demon flew at him, a black shadow flashed in his clawed right hand.

Ichigo swung his sword up, and Zangetsu slammed into the dark blade now in Chizome's hands, sending an numbing shockwave up Ichigo's arms. He and the demon pressed one another, blades crossed, faces close as they tried to overpower the other.

Chizome grinned at him, showing his long, pointed teeth. "A Hollow mask? An interesting technique. But do you know what _this_ is, Kurosaki Ichigo?" he asked softly, pointing his chin towards the black blade in his hands.

Ichigo risked a glance down at it. It was the length of a katana, but didn't seem to have an entirely solid shape, no hilt, no guard. And, he realized, it wasn't black. It was a hole in the world, an emptiness, a small piece of oblivion. It was not darkness, but the opposite of light. It was nothingness.

The blade, whatever it was, radiated a cold beyond the deepest arctic night, burning Ichigo's hands with each second it touched Zangetsu.

"This," Chizome explained, reverence in his voice, "is the weapon of demon lords. It is called _Seikiteiruken_—the Living Blade."

Ichigo had never seen anything that looked less alive. How could a black hole be alive?

Unable to bear the horrible iciness of the weapon that went beyond physical cold, Ichigo shoved backwards, leaping away. Chizome didn't pursue, but straightened, holding his black weapon with one hand and caressing its length with the other.

"Would you like to see what a Seikiteiruken can do?" he crooned maliciously.

Ichigo had a moment to watch the black blade seem to shiver, to contort—and then Chizome was coming at him.

He snapped Zangtsu around as the Seikiteiruken's point shot towards his chest. His blade hit the demon's weapon with a horrible absence of sound, forcing the attack off to the side so it would miss him.

The black blade pulsed, rippled—and then like a snake it elongated, veered around Zangetsu's block, and struck deep into Ichigo's shoulder.

A scream ripped from his throat as ice-fire engulfed his shoulder, searing him beyond thought even with the protection of his Hollow mask, which had always muffled physical pain for him before.

He found himself on his knees, gasping for air, his entire arm numb with freezing agony. Chizome stood a few paces away, his Seikiteiruken writhing, rippling like some sort of formless, shape-shifting animal. It shifted from the shape of a katana to a wide broadsword to a spear and back to katana: liquid lightning that somehow had substance but no true shape.

"Do you understand now, boy?" the demon asked, observing Ichigo's reaction with vicious delight. "A Shinigami's sword has, at most, three static forms. A Seikiteiruken is unlimited in the forms it can assume. Like a living creature, it can move and shape itself and attack you however it pleases."

Ichigo stood, pressing one hand to his shoulder. The wound wasn't bleeding, but was instead a clean hole, the edges of the wound frozen, burned, cauterized. He felt no pain in exact center of the injury, but agony surrounded it, weakening his entire shoulder and arm. He panted, wrapping both hands around Zangetsu so he wouldn't lose his grip. Taking a deep breath, he lifted his sword.

"_Getsuga Tenshō!_" he roared though his Hollow mask, slashing Zangetsu down.

The red-rimmed black attack screamed towards the demon, obscuring him completely within the blast. The entire street disintegrated, the buildings turned to dust.

The smoke cleared quickly under the rain, and Ichigo's breath caught in his throat.

Chizome stood exactly where he'd been, not having moved even a step. The Seikiteiruken rippled and shivered like an eel in water as it shrank back from the wide black shield of void it had formed in front of Ichigo's attack. It had sucked in Getsuga Tenshō just like a black hole, leaving Chizome unharmed and untaxed.

Once again taking the form of a katana, the Seikiteiruken became still, almost solid-looking. Ichigo didn't understand. How could it move like water, like lightning, yet still be solid enough to block Zangestu, to pierce Ichigo? How could Chizome control its shape like that—or did it control itself? Was it truly alive, a living blade in a far more literal sense than a Zanpakutō was alive?

If it was alive, could it be injured?

Ignoring the frozen agony of his shoulder as best he could, Ichigo set his feet. Chizome smiled, waiting.

With a shouted, wordless battle cry, Ichigo leaped for the demon. Chizome blocked easily, but Ichigo pulled back and struck again, as fast as he could, pulling all the speed he could from his Bankai and his Hollow mask. He didn't pause, didn't give the demon's weapon a chance to change shape and strike him again.

Chizome matched him with leisurely ease, his movements smooth, unhurried, unstrained. Every time Ichigo might have managed to make Chizome work for a parry or block, his weapon changed shape, lengthening or shortening, widening its blade or curving it. Again and again Ichigo had to throw himself backwards as the Seikiteiruken darted its point towards him like a striking snake, attempting again to spear Ichigo at the same time it blocked Zangetsu. Ichigo felt like he was fighting two opponents at once.

With a lazy slash, Chizome hurled Ichigo back. As he flew backwards, heels dragging, finding no grip on the wet stones, Chizome gave the Seikiteiruken a little flick, and it morphed from katana to writhing whip. Chizome snapped it towards Ichigo.

"No!" he yelled, twisting as he fell to fling Zangetsu in the whip's path, to knock the strike aside.

Impossibly, the whip changed direction, living lightning, to coil around Zangetsu. It tightened, pulled taught, and ripped the sword from Ichigo's hands. He hit the ground, tumbling over and over before slamming into a wall. Scrambling up, he looked around for his sword—

Black flashed across his vision, and the whip's tip sliced across his thigh, tearing deep into the muscle.

Ichigo cried out, his leg collapsing under him. He clutched it, feeling like his leg was going to split in two, ice and fire and agony burning down into the bone. With blurred vision he looked down at his thigh to see a deep, bloodless valley cut into the muscle, the surrounding flesh dead and black, the skin near the wound chalk-white with frostbite.

A low chuckle pulled his horrified, revolted stare away from the remains of his leg.

"Now you almost understand," Chizome told him, satisfied. The demon lord smiled and gave his wrist a little twist.

The Seikiteiruken flashed again, reaching across the distance between them to slice across Ichigo's stomach. Ichigo doubled over, unable to scream, to breathe, to move. Sparks exploded in front of his eyes, and unconsciousness swept over him in sickening waves as he started to black out only to have the pain drag him back again.

A clawed hand grasped a handful of material over his chest and pulled him up, slamming him back into the wall. The arm pushed him into the wall, pinning him with his feet barely brushing the ground. He hung limply, unable to think or plan or even panic. He stared dully at the demon, realizing vaguely that his Hollow mask was gone. He didn't remember it breaking.

"Very nice," Chizome murmured, looking into Ichigo's glazed eyes. "We're almost there. Now pay attention, Kurosaki Ichigo, for there's one more thing you need to understand." He smiled. "Look at your shoulder, Ichigo. Go on now."

Not really knowing why he obeyed, except that there was nothing else for him to do, Ichigo turned his head to look at the shoulder the Seikiteiruken had stabbed.

Horror clenched tight around his chest, and he slammed back to full consciousness.

The narrow, piercing wound from the demon blade was no longer a katana-sized hole through his shoulder. It had doubled in size, leaving a gaping tunnel through his flesh that he could have stuck his hand through. Ichigo fought not to be sick as he stared at it.

"You were doomed the moment my Seikiteiruken broke your skin," Chizome whispered to him, leaning close, still pinning him tight to the wall. "The wounds it gave you will slowly devour you. They are called Kokushibyo wounds—black death wounds. All it takes is one cut—one cut to consume you entirely. It cannot be healed. It cannot be stopped. You cannot be saved. You are dead, Kurosaki Ichigo. Count each heartbeat, for they are your last."

Chizome inhaled deeply, sliding his arm up until his forearm was jammed under Ichigo's chin, pressing his body into Ichigo to keep him pinned, helpless, against the wall.

"Your terror is like a sweet wine, Kurosaki Ichigo," the demon breathed in his ear. "You smell . . . irresistible. Such a pure soul." Chizome chuckled, a low, husky sound. "Oh, how you must have tempted our young prince when he had you at his mercy in Hell . . . Did he taste you, Ichigo?"

The demon pressed closer, nuzzling Ichigo's neck, sensual and violating. "Have you ever wondered, Ichigo, why it is that demons crave pure souls? Do you know what it is we desire so fiercely?"

Ichigo trembled, the burning cold of the Seikiteiruken's wounds driving him out of his mind, the rest of his body hot and feverish.

"Shall I tell you, Ichigo? Would you like to know before you die? It seems a shame for such a delicious soul as yours to pass on without ever being sampled." Chizome grazed his fangs lightly across Ichigo's throat, taunting his powerlessness. "Lesser demons, crude as they are, they _eat_ souls just as Hollow do. But demons like I, like our young prince, we are far more . . . refined. We possess a unique ability that other demons do not need. You see, Ichigo, we are so powerful, have so much reiatsu, that we would spend the majority of our time hunting down food in order to replenish our power supplies after a battle. It just isn't _economical_ for us to refuel through mundane means like eating."

Chizome moved his lips to Ichigo's ear, whispering luridly. "So we evolved a superior way of refuelling ourselves. We take our fuel directly from the source: we can pull the reiatsu directly from other beings and make it own. Do you begin to see now?" He pressed Ichigo harder into the wall, making it difficult for him to draw breath.

"We usually pull small amounts of reiatsu from our many vassals as we need," the demon went on, "thus replenishing ourselves without severely weakening our servants. But when it comes to _souls_, Ichigo . . .

"There is a moment," Chizome whispered, almost crooned, "just a moment, when our bodies fill with the reiatsu of our prey. A moment before that reiatsu is converted into our own. In that moment, flooded with another's power . . . It's a high like you cannot _imagine_, Ichigo. And if that power, that reiatsu, is the pure, untainted, untouched essence of a pure soul . . ." The demon shivered, exhaling sharply. "It is euphoria," he finished breathily. "Utter rapture."

Ichigo cringed away from the demon, but there was nowhere for him to go. Chizome did not even seem to be aware of his weak struggles to free himself. Ichigo could feel his life and strength slipping away with each heartbeat, with each fraction that his tainted wounds spread.

"Fear makes it even sweeter," Chizome went on, nearly purring the words. "Fear and pain and despair, they sweeten the soul so nicely. Do you feel them, Ichigo?" The demon's blood-red eyes had started to glow. "Fear and despair? Do you drown in them now, Ichigo? I know you already burn with the pain of my Seikiteiruken's touch, but that is nothing . . . nothing to what I will show you now. There is a way to draw reiatsu without causing pain . . . but why would we want that?"

Crushing him into the wall, Chizome slowly licked a trickle of blood from Ichigo's cheek. "Are you ready to feed me, Kurosaki Ichigo?" the demon whispered huskily. "Are you ready to know what pain truly is?"

"No," Ichigo gasped, barely able to breathe, unable to think, unable to fight. "No!"

"Yes," the demon breathed, trapping Ichigo's jaw in his fingers.

For a bare second, all Ichigo felt was a strange pulling sensation in his middle, like someone had stuck a vacuum cleaner nozzle in his stomach.

Then he screamed, screamed like he never had before, as his insides tore, rending, ripping from inside him, shredding his skin, his bones shattering, cleaving out of his body. He was bursting apart, his innards sucked from his body, his organs collapsing, his bones fracturing, his skin splitting, everywhere, everything was pain, agony, torment beyond comprehension, and he couldn't even feel his wounds, he couldn't feel anything, he was dying, surely this was death, let it end, let him die, no more, no more . . .

And blackness swept over him, and he was drowning, and the pain was gone. Feeling nothing, knowing nothing, he let himself be swept away into unconsciousness.

* * *

**. x : X : x .  
**

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

With this chapter, _Devil's Smile_ has officially surpassed 100,000 words! That's novel-length, people. Congrats to us all—me for writing 250+ pages and you for reading it all! Hope it's been worth the reading time (and waiting time) for all of you!

* * *

**GLOSSARY:**

**Sonído **(Spanish: "Sound") - A technique used by Arrancar which allows them to move at extreme speeds, similar to the Shunpo (Flash Step) technique used by Shinigami.

**Seikiteiruken** - Literally, "living blade".

**Kokushibyo** - Literally, "black death".


	27. Chapter 27

**Disclaimer: **Bleach does not belong to me, but Nakita, Seiko, Saiu, Shoku, Aranami, Nozomi, Hayate, Suisei, and Chizome do.

* * *

**DEVIL'S SMILE**

* * *

**Chapter 27**

* * *

The glossy black doors burst apart in a rain of splinters as his reiatsu hit them.

Saiu stepped into the elegant yet utilitarian room, his solid, glowing red eyes sweeping across the bookcases lining the walls, the large, beautifully painted map of Hell that covered one wall, to the large blackwood desk that sat in lone splendour in the center of the study.

As Saiu paused in the threshold, the figure seated behind the desk rose to his feet with slow wariness. Saiu was unsurprised by the other's caution. It wasn't every decade that an enraged demon prince in his fully released form stormed into your office—and it wasn't an experience that one usually survived to repeat.

Flaring his black, bat-like wings for balance, Saiu stepped into the room, unable to mask his heavy limp. His face revealed none of his pain, the agony that grew with each passing minute. Instead, his face was serene, still, tranquil with his resolution, his determination—and his fury. Rage balanced the pain, temporarily granting him a brief chance to focus without the spell-induced agony interfering.

The owner of the office met Saiu's glowing crimson stare for only a second before breaking eye contact. He looked down—and saw the Kidō harpoon in Saiu's leg. The other's eyes went wide.

Saiu stepped fully into the room until only the large desk stood between them. He closed his fingers on the edge of the polished wood—and not only upended the desk, but threw it right through the nearest wall with a thunderous, shattering crash.

The other held his ground staunchly, though his tension and the scent of his fear gave him away. He expected to die—and he would, if this interview did not go in his favour.

Saiu crossed the remaining distance between them with one lightning-quick flash step until he stood directly before the larger male. His claws went around the other's thick neck, digging in to draw blood. The other male stayed passive, unresisting, waiting for the killing blow.

Saiu locked his glowing eyes on the other's. "Are you my enemy?" His voice was a soft, deadly whisper.

The other's face went slack, eyes widening.

Saiu bared his fangs. "_Are you my enemy?_"

The other male met Saiu's eyes now without hesitation, and he smoothly went down on his knees, yielding utterly. Saiu pulled his claws away and took a step back, his rage settling into a quiet simmer. He tipped his head to one side as he surveyed the other male, his red eyes considering now.

"Are you my enemy?" he asked for a third time.

The Warlord of the Demon Hunters lifted his chin. "No, miyasama. I am not your enemy." His lips pulled back in a fierce grin. "You have but to tell me who is."

Their gazes locked for a long moment, understanding passing between them.

Saiu smiled. "So I shall, Warlord . . . and together we will drink the death of traitors."

* * *

**. o : O : o .**

* * *

For a moment, the only sound was that of the rain striking the stone tiles of the courtyard, a muted roar beneath the low blanket of clouds.

Tōshirō set his feet, Hyōrinmaru raised before him. Nakita, standing beside him, held her black weapon ready, its two blades gleaming with raindrops.

Shoku, facing them from two dozen paces away, held his weapon in one hand, the sickle-shaped blade dangling casually at his side. Curved like a crescent moon with the sharp, cutting edge of the blade running along the inside of the curve, the sight of it brought a wave of frustration over Tōshirō as he recalled how difficult a weapon it was to fight against—a wave of frustration to be followed by a wave of fury as he remembered that blade tearing through Nakita's chest.

"I wondered if you'd show up, Shoku," Nakita said into the tense silence, her voice like deep winter frost.

Shoku smiled, giving her a little bow. "You know me too well, dear one. I rather suspected you knew I wouldn't be able to resist such a fun event as this."

"I know _you_ . . . but I don't know _why_," she told him, her eyes narrowed. "I don't understand what you're getting out of this. Why ally with demons?"

Shoku grinned at her. "You're missing it because you're looking in the wrong direction for a motive."

Tōshirō frowned, wanting to glance at Nakita to see if she understood Shoku's cryptic answer but not daring to take his eyes off the enemy.

Nakita was silent for a moment as she considered. "Oh," she murmured. "I see. You aren't working for a payment to be given, but for a payment already received."

Shoku smirked. "I would applaud your deductive abilities if I had two free hands," he mocked.

"I'd wondered," she said, "why a piece of scum like you made it to the rank of Diviner-Commander—but I guess what I should have wondered is why all the worthier Diviner-Commanders died so conveniently soon after their promotions."

"If you were going to live past the next few minutes, you would probably have come to understand in time, little Kita—after all, it's all in the name of power. Power is something you're just beginning to crave, I think." Shoku smiled, a smile that made Tōshirō want to run him through. "I was doing quite a good job of bringing you around to the pleasures of being more powerful than everyone around you."

"You think so?" Nakita snarled. "I beg to differ."

Shoku lifted his eyebrows. "You've jumped at every opportunity I've arranged for you to increase your personal power and authority. Prove me wrong, Kita."

Tōshirō's eyes darted towards her before he could stop himself. Her mouth was a thin, hard line, her eyes flashing with hate as she stared down her former teacher.

"You _tried_ to twist me into a version of yourself," she sneered at Shoku. "But you failed. Are you sure you want me to prove it to you?"

Shoku planted his free hand on his hip. "Actually, I would. Prove away, my dear."

Nakita straightened and, to both Tōshirō's and Shoku's surprise, turned to face Tōshirō.

"He's trying to delay me," she said, not seeming to care that Shoku could hear her every word. "There's just barely enough time left for the dissolution spell. I—" Her jaw clenched for a second. "I can't help you fight him. I don't have time."

He nodded. "I understand. Do what you have to. I'll take care of him myself."

She gave him a terse smile. "I know you will. But just because I can't help with the battle doesn't mean you have to fight him alone."

His brow furrowed, and he opened his mouth to ask her what she meant.

She brought her eyes to his, intent and intense. "Do you trust me, Tōshirō?" she whispered, her voice husky with all the things that went unsaid in that one simple question.

He didn't hesitate, didn't even stop to consider. He wasn't sure when the conviction within him had strengthened into such steel certainty, but his answer came without the need of conscious thought, without a single doubt.

"Yes."

The moment the word left his lips, she snapped her weapon around until the middle of the haft connected with Hyōrinmaru's blade, the ringing contact making him start with surprise.

"Are you going to fight your little boyfriend, Kita?" Shoku called. "I'm not sure how that proves you different from me, but by all means, go right ahead."

Nakita ignored him completely, her eyes locked with Tōshirō's. "Hold still," she murmured, closing her eyes completely. Her expression smoothed out, becoming peaceful and serene as she tipped her face up to the rain. She let out a slow, quiet breath, almost a sigh.

"Hiren," she whispered, and Tōshirō realized she was talking to her weapon, calling its name.

The weapon answered, its entire length lighting with glowing red symbols. It pulsed with growing reiatsu, radiating power as Nakita filled the Akkihaisaki with her strength.

Nakita sighed another slow breath. Without opening her eyes she shifted her grip on Hiren, and Tōshirō felt the weapon's power change somehow, shift in nature and focus.

With a sudden flicker, the red symbols on Hiren spread to Hyōrinmaru, flashing up the length of his Zanpakutō and over the hilt. Tōshirō swallowed a gasp.

Hiren gave another pulse—and then melted from Nakita's hands into nothingness. But its power didn't dissipate. Tōshirō went rigid as Hiren's power flowed into Hyōrinmaru, infusing the blade and licking tentatively at Tōshirō's palms as though asking permission to enter him.

He stared at his sword, at the glowing red symbols on Hyōrinmaru's once unmarked blade, at the now solid black colour of Hyōrinmaru's hilt. Foreign, alien power shivered in the blade, pressing more insistently against Tōshirō, demanding entrance into his soul.

He lifted shocked eyes to Nakita, and saw in her anxious stare a plea for him to understand, to have faith that she knew what she was doing—a plea for him to trust her as he had said he did.

And, because his words had been truth, because he trusted her, he opened himself to the alien power now inhabiting his Zanpakutō.

His teeth snapped together, clenching painfully as raw, savage power rolled through his soul. He felt Hyōrinmaru stir awake at the invasion, coating Tōshirō's soul in his icy, comforting power, balancing the rush of unfamiliar reiatsu. Hyōrinmaru growled threateningly from deep within him, warning this new power out of his territory.

As the influx of new power settled, Tōshirō felt a new awareness touch him, a fierce, feral intelligence, cunning and vicious and unnervingly female. It whispered wordlessly at the peripheral of his soul, an intruder not quite welcome—but he sensed on an instinctive level that with a little time and acceptance, he could make this power as much a part of him as Hyōrinmaru was.

His eyes lost focus as he turned inward to listen to that new voice. It murmured softly like a sound just below his level of hearing, but he could feel the meaning behind each whisper. Unhappy about this new soul, wanted to be reunited with _her_ soul. Unfamiliar and out of place. Liked this other power, this cold icy power. Potent. Ruthless. Strong. Strong soul. Strong enough for their enemy, the hated enemy that waited now for battle. A hungry eagerness for that coming battle, a fierce desire to attack, the tear and slice and taste the blood of the enemy, to taste his death.

Wide-eyed as the awareness's urge to kill flooded him, he reacted the only way he knew how: he seized the new power with his will and demanded its immediate and complete surrender. He was the master of his soul and his power—all his power, no matter its source.

The new awareness resisted for a bare moment before conceding, settling into watchful silence in a corner of his soul, waiting for the battle it knew would come eventually.

Finally—though less than a minute had passed outside his inner landscape—his lifted his gaze to Nakita. She gave him a wobbly smile, looking somehow lost and unsure.

"Good," she said. "Well done. She needs firm handling. She's always been a bit bloodthirsty."

"W-what did you do?" he asked, feeling a little shocky. A small part of his mind kept prodding at the foreign power making itself at home in his soul, checking it was still there, like a sore tooth.

"Yes, Kita," Shoku growled, jerking Tōshirō's attention back to him. "What exactly did you just do?"

She straightened under her former sensei's glare, laying one hand on Tōshirō's arm. "Exactly what I said I was going to do: prove you wrong." Her smile was stronger now, more sure. "You think you know everything about everything, but you don't know me at all. Power hungry, am I?" Triumph glinted in her eyes. "Would I then have given my greatest power away to another, Shoku?"

Shoku's eyes widened, then narrowed sharply. "Are you suggesting that you just gave your Akkihaisaki's power to the Shinigami? That's impossible."

She gave him a haughty look. "Didn't I just say that you don't know everything? You don't know a damn thing about my Akkihaisaki. Have you ever thought about what her name means?"

Shoku's eyes narrowed even further.

Nakita's voice dripped patronizing condescension. "Hiren: blighted love. She is what she is named. She is a kind of love, and she is mine. Is it not the right, the privilege of everyone to give their love to whomever they choose? Love is a gift that cannot be denied. Hiren's giving nature is twofold. I can give her power away—as you just saw. And she can give her love, her blighted love, to anyone. And her love, unlike mine, brings death."

Blighted love. Tōshirō considered that name, the name of the weapon Nakita used to kill, then thought of the traumas of her past—and he knew what part of her soul Hiren had come from.

Lips curling in a sneer, Shoku dropped his hand from his hip, fingers curling into a fist. "What the hell does all that dribble mean? _Love?_"

"Confused, Shoku?" Nakita mocked. "Is the concept of love too much for your mind to comprehend? —Or too foreign for your dead heart to grasp?"

"We're talking about weapons, not _love_," he snapped.

"In this case, the same thing, Shoku." Nakita's fingers tightened on Tōshirō's arm. "You may have been my teacher, but you don't know all of Hiren's power. I never shared her ultimate technique with you . . . because I already sensed on some level that I couldn't trust you. You don't know what her 'blighted love' really means."

Nakita lifted her chin, pride in her eyes. "Hiren's love is blighted because it brings death. And she can give her love to anyone. There is no defence against love. You cannot deny it, defend against it, or refuse it." She smiled. "And thus Hiren can bring death to anyone. There is no way to protect yourself from her."

Shoku face contorted with enraged disgust. "You're going to kill me with love? Your first death has addled your brains, woman. I think it's about time for your second."

The alien awareness inside Tōshirō, Hiren's awareness, whispered to him, her voice caressing and sweetly vicious. Her love, she whispered. She would give the enemy her love. The enemy could not stop their blade from delivering her love. The enemy's weapon, his amour, his magic, it could not, _would_ not, stop her. Her blighted love would cut through it all—and bring death to their enemy.

Tōshirō's eyes went wide with understanding. Hiren purred to him, urging him to attack, to begin the battle. They would win. Together, they would taste their enemy's death.

"I have to say," Shoku said abruptly, his face smoothing out as he regained his temper. "You've let me down, little Kita. If you had this amazing ultimate technique waiting in secret, why couldn't you defeat me with it yourself, hmm?"

Nakita gave Tōshirō's arm a gentle squeeze, drawing his attention away from Hiren's murmurs and back to the real world.

"Because I would have lost," she told Shoku. "I haven't mastered the technique. It's hugely complex and ridiculously dangerous to use in battle. I've never used it against an enemy before."

Shoku stared at her for a moment, then let out a roar of laughter. It was a moment before he'd recovered enough to speak. "It's so difficult that _you _haven't mastered it—so you pass it off to the baby-Captain and expect him to do better?" He wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. "You've lost it completely, Kita."

She lifted her eyebrows, that haughty look back on her face. "Have you gone blind, Shoku? Has your Diviner's Sight deserted you? Maybe your Sight doesn't reveal as much as mine does—like Tōshirō's natural skills, his instinctive grasp of technique, and his enormous potential for even more."

Shoku eyed Tōshirō, then smirked. "Or perhaps your brains have turned to mush, little Kita. But seeing as how you've got this all planned out, let me ask you this: did you consider that, now that you've given your power away, you can't just take it back? I may not get your little love speech, but I can See that your ties to Hiren are severed completely. That power is the Shinigami's now. You gave away not only your power, but your rank and purpose too. You're not a Captain anymore; you're not even a Hunter, not without an Akkihaisaki."

She shrugged. "Tōshirō could give Hiren back to me if he chose, or he can keep her with him instead. That's the nature of love, isn't it?" she added derisively.

Tōshirō glanced at her, then down at the altered Hyōrinmaru, its blade still glowing with red symbols, its hilt still black as obsidian. He looked up and met Nakita's eyes—and knew that she did not expect Hiren back. Nakita expected to die casting her spell, and she wanted Tōshirō to keep Hiren, so that Hiren didn't die with her.

Nakita, one hand still on Tōshirō's arm, laid the other over Tōshirō's hand holding Hyōrinmaru.

"You can do it," she whispered to him. "Hiren knows what to do; listen to her, and you'll find how to use her best." Her fingers tightened on his hand, her eyes on his. "Be careful, okay? Don't—don't die on me."

"You know I won't," he said gruffly, his eyes darting from her to Shoku and back; he dare not take his eyes off the Diviner-Commander for long.

"You're right," she said. "I know you won't." A soft smile lifted her lips, brightened her eyes. "I trust you too, Tōshirō. I trust you."

Knowing her past, Tōshirō understood what those words really meant, how deep the bond between them went for her to place her unquestioning trust in his hands after the betrayals of her past.

Before he could respond, she swooped forward and leaned hard into him, pressing her face into his shoulder in a brief, fierce hug. Then she was gone, racing towards the center of the spell so she could invoke her barrier and seal herself away from Shoku.

Even as she darted away, Tōshirō leaped forward, launching himself at Shoku before the Diviner-Commander could recover from his surprise over Nakita's sudden departure. Deep within him, Hyōrinmaru roared his battle cry and Hiren sang her pleasure at the commencement of battle. The red symbols on his blade gleamed brightly as power flowed through it.

Jaw set with impatience, Shoku lunged towards Tōshirō. Tōshirō could read in the Diviner's movements that he intended to kill Tōshirō as quickly as possible so he could go after Nakita. That wasn't going to happen. This time, Tōshirō would not lose.

Tōshirō whipped Hyōrinmaru through the air, slashing downwards. Shoku lifted his sickle-shaped blade for an easy sliding block that would channel the power of Tōshirō's strike off to the side, throwing Tōshirō off balance.

As their blades swept towards one another, Hiren's red symbols blazed. Hyōrinmaru hit with the sickle-blade three inches from its curved tip just as Shoku intended—

The blades connected, and Hyōrinmaru kept going—cleaving right through the sickle as though it were butter, not reiatsu-infused steel.

Shoku jumped back a dozen feet, his face slack and stunned as he gaped as his weapon, now missing the tip of its blade, cut through as cleanly as though it had been forged that way.

Tōshirō lifted Hyōrinmaru, smiling at Hiren's silent jubilation as she exulted in the success of their attack. From the center of the courtyard he felt a surge of reiatsu as a Kidō spell was invoked, and an opaque, pyramid-shaped barrier took form over the centermost point of the destruction spell. Kita was safe.

Shoku tore his eyes from his sword to look at Tōshirō. "What—how did you—?"

Tōshirō's small smile grew. "Weren't you listening?" he asked quietly. "Nakita already told you." He held up his glowing Zanpakutō. "There is no defence against Hiren's blighted love."

Shoku's eyes widened as he finally understood what Kita had been saying. "No. Impossible!"

"Yes," Tōshirō said. "There is no defence against Hiren . . . because she can, and will, cut through anything that stands against her."

Hiren's ultimate technique: the power to cut through anything—through _everything_. Through flesh, bone, armour, steel, even Kidō. Nothing could stop her blade, because her blade was love, blighted love that could not be stopped, and thus brought death to every enemy. Deadly dangerous for both opponent and wielder, and Tōshirō understood why Nakita had yet to master this technique. There was no longer any parry or block in this fight, no real swordplay at all. Hiren would slice through anything in her path—including Tōshirō himself if he miscalculated.

But no battle was won without risk, and this was a risk he was more than willing to accept. In their last fight, Tōshirō had lost because he had been unable to find the advantage he needed in order to defeat Shoku.

This time, thanks to Nakita, he had the advantage he needed—and he would not lose.

* * *

**. x : X : x .**

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Busy, busy, busy. I'm starting a new job in a week (my second job...free time, where have you gone?) but I'll do my best to keep updating whenever I can.

For anyone who noticed the inconsistency . . . In Tōshirō's first battle with Shoku, I was calling Shoku's weapon a sabre—but the weapon I was picturing was actually a sickle. I made the change in this chapter, and I may eventually get around to fixing the other chapter. Hope there wasn't too much confusion.


	28. Chapter 28

**Disclaimer: **Bleach does not belong to me, but Nakita, Seiko, Saiu, Shoku, Aranami, Nozomi, Hayate, Suisei, and Chizome do.

* * *

**DEVIL'S SMILE**

* * *

**Chapter 28**

* * *

He didn't want to wake up.

Ichigo struggled against this thought, because a coherent thought meant he was coming back from the calm, painless depths of unconsciousness. Even as he longed to sink back into nothingness, pain intruded, burning and searing and impossible to ignore.

His shoulder was agony, his thigh surely on fire, his stomach filled with knives of ice. His entire body throbbed and ached and burned with fever. And beneath the pain was the crushing weight of horrible, unnatural fatigue.

A low groan slipped from him. He had never hurt this much in his life. How could he be alive and hurting this much? No one should be able to survive through this kind of pain. The exhaustion that deadened his every muscle was almost as bad. His body felt so heavy and immobile that he could have been turned to stone.

"Ah," murmured a voice that caused a hot, sick swoop of hatred in Ichigo's middle. "You are awake. It is unfortunate that you passed out. It is so much more fun when my prey stays conscious."

"Go . . . to hell," Ichigo grunted. He was lying slumped on his side, and, forcing his eyes open, he saw Chizome's legs a step away as the demon stood over him.

"Oh, indeed I will as soon as I am finished here," Chizome said, amused. "I live there, do I not?"

Ichigo squinted at everything within his immediate line of sight, looking for Zangetsu. He couldn't see the sword in front of him, and he had yet to find the strength to move his head and look elsewhere. The horrible exhaustion lay over him like the weight of the ocean. He clenched his teeth. Get up.

Get up, get up, get up.

_Get up!_

With a gasp, Ichigo shoved himself upright with one arm. His other hung limp and useless, probably because the demon-weapon wound had swallowed most of his shoulder. He tried not to think of what might happen when the wound absorbed the last bit of his shoulder and there was no flesh or bone left to connect his arm to body.

He sank back against the wall, unable to stand. His thigh looked like someone had dug a bone-deep trench in it with an ice-cream scoop. He didn't even look at his stomach. Instead, he glared up at the demon, channelling his pain and despair into hatred for the foul monster standing over him.

Rain still fell in steady sheets, and despite the twilight gloom Ichigo didn't think much time had passed while he'd been unconscious. His breath came fast and panicky. The longer he kept the demon lord busy, the better chance the others had of surviving. As long as his friends made it through this alive. That's what counted. If taking a long time to die was the only way to protect them, then that's what he'd do.

As though hearing his thoughts, Chizome glanced at the sky. "It is getting late," he said. "I have work to do still today. You have so much reiatsu, it was taking so long to drain." The demon leered at him. "It was most enjoyable to feast on you, Ichigo, but our time together draws to an end. I wanted you to be awake, though, for the final moment."

Panic clenched around his heart. No.

Chizome lifted his hand, and with a flash of darkness, his black weapon, the Seikiteiruken, formed again in his grip, a katana-shaped black hole.

"It has been a pleasure, Kurosaki Ichigo," the demon whispered, his eyes glowing like rubies. "Let my progeny be avenged."

Ichigo tried to throw himself to the side, tried to move, to dodge, tried to do something besides watch death fall.

The Seikiteiruken struck the center of his chest right over his heart like a blow from a sledgehammer. Ichigo's lungs locked, his eyes bulging. The black blade rippled, hesitating for just a moment—then it tore into him, sinking through his chest, through his body, to pierce the wall behind him.

Ichigo stared down at the blade as it withdrew from his torso, shrinking back into its katana shape. He looked at the hole in the middle in his chest. His heart didn't beat. His blood didn't pulse in his veins. His body was heavy, inanimate.

He slid sideways, slumping lifelessly on the ground beside the wall. Cold rain peppered him, running over his slack face, his staring eyes, his fatal wounds.

Chizome stood over the body of his son's killer, satisfied as he watched the light fade from the boy's eyes. The human's Kokushibyo wounds continued to spread, slow but ruthless. They would eventually consume his entire corpse, leaving nothing at all behind. No sign that Kurosaki Ichigo had ever existed.

Nodding to himself, Chizome turned away. It was time to join his brothers and take care of that pesky Diviner who was trying to unravel Aranami's masterpiece spell.

The demon lord paused in mid-step, his eyes narrowing as his senses caught a change in the air. He looked back at the fallen boy—and froze.

Black light swirled around the boy's unmoving form, spinning faster and faster, growing denser and darker. It flared upwards in a maelstrom of darkness, obscuring the boy entirely. Chizome jumped back, calling his Seikiteiruken to hand.

The light spun, spiralling crazily, pulsing with dark, heavy power that scraped across Chizome's nerves. Eyes wide, he moved back another step. With a sudden flash, the black light swirled outward and died, revealing the figure that stood in the midst of it.

Dark red stripes marked the white Hollow mask. It was the same mask the boy had donned before to increase his power, but the rest . . .

Most of his black garment had torn away from his chest, revealing the unnaturally white skin of a Hollow, striped with the same dark red color—stripes that radiated from the perfectly round hole in the center of his chest. The hole was no longer a Kokushibyo wound, but a smooth, clean tunnel through his chest, right where his human heart should have been. The boy's other Kokushibyo wounds were gone, somehow healed.

Only the rarely possessed power of high-speed regeneration, like that of a high-level demon or Menos-level Hollow, could counteract a wound inflicted by a Seikiteiruken.

Chizome's eyes narrowed as he met the black and gold eyes that stared from behind the Hollow mask: feral, mad eyes. The eyes of a beast.

"You have become a Hollow rather than succumb to death?" Chizome said, disgusted. "I should not be surprised."

The Hollow stared at him, unmoving. Then its head slowly turned, its gaze moving to a thin, dark object among the rubble of the street—the boy's Zanpakutō.

"Hollow do not fight with Zanpakutō," Chizome told the beast conversationally. "Do you not know what you are? You are a Shinigami no longer."

The Hollow ignored him. It shifted its weight just slightly. Chizome lifted his Seikiteiruken—and the Hollow vanished.

Chizome inhaled sharply as the Hollow appeared next to the Zanpakutō. Sonído. _Fast _Sonído. The Hollow picked up the sword in one white, clawed hand, and turned back to Chizome. It lifted its other hand, pointing two fingers at the demon lord.

Chizome's upper lip curled. "What are you—"

Red light flashed at the tips of the Hollow's fingers, and a Cero spun into existence, swelling into a small sun. Chizome's called upon his Seikiteiruken without a moment to spare as the blast engulfed him. The black weapon shuddered under the onslaught, deflecting and absorbing the attack in equal measure.

Flicking the last of the Cero away, Chizome straightened before the Hollow.

"So you have become even more powerful as a Hollow? So be it." His eyes began to glow, the red orbs expanding to consume his sclera. "I will show you my true power as well. I will bring all I am down on you, and this time I will obliterate you completely, Kurosaki Ichigo."

He released his humanoid form, and his power burst from him in a roaring, raging whirlpool of darkness and light. In the same moment, the Hollow lifted its head and let out a shrieking, haunting howl, the hunting cry of its kind.

Chizome smiled grimly. "So be it," he repeated softly.

* * *

**. o : O : o .**

* * *

Kyōraku Shunsui sighed as he surveyed the large courtyard at the foot of the eastern gate into Seireitei. He, his fellow Captain and best friend Ukitake Jūshirō, and the young Diviner Suisei stood with their backs to the great rend in the stonework where demons had first torn their way into Seireitei, a battle that felt like it had happened months before, but in reality, it had been only days.

Facing them at the other end of the courtyard was the Class 2 demon they were supposed to kill. He was a strange-looking creature. His face was almost feminine, delicate in its construction with large red eyes, a small nose and mouth, and a petite chin. His hair swept down his back to his hips, a flaming scarlet colour, and was half loose, half done up in elaborate braiding. Long red and black feathers sprouted almost decoratively from his forearms and just above his pointed ears. If it weren't revealed by his shirtless state that he was clearly lacking certain distinctly female appendages, Shunsui might have mistaken the demon for a woman.

Between them, spread through the center of the clearing, was a small horde of demons, mostly Class 3 and 4 according to Diviner Suisei.

The ground was littered with the bodies of demons that he and Jūshirō had already slain—but the blasted Class 2 just kept summoning more of them. So far, he hadn't engaged them in battle himself, had instead continued to retreat while throwing his flunkies into their path. Probably didn't want to get his feathers rumpled.

Shunsui didn't know exactly what the Class 2 was thinking with his strategic decisions thus far, since Diviner Suisei had sealed the demon's voice before he could say a single word to them. The young Diviner was definitely a talent to be recognized. Even his detour to assist Ichigo hadn't weakened the silencing spell.

Noticing Shunsui's eyes on him, the Class 2 lifted one hand, his dark, eagle-like talons glinting in the rain. He waggled his fingers at Shunsui in a patronizing, mocking wave and grinned.

Shunsui sighed again. Time for round two—and this time, none of the demons but the Class 2 had their voices silenced. Diviner Suisei was out of spell-casting juice, and considering how many demons he'd already silenced, Shunsui could hardly complain.

"How much longer until Captain Matsuo has completed her spell?" Jūshirō asked in a murmur that blended with the sound of the rain.

"There are about eighteen minutes left until the destruction spell triggers," Diviner Suisei replied. "So until then."

"Hmm," Shunsui said, "That's not very long." Or far too long, depending on how he looked at it. Not much time to defeat a powerful demon, but too much time for them to keep such an opponent distracted.

With a deafening, howling shriek, a beastly Class 4 demon sunk into a crouch, preparing to spring at them. From beneath his straw sakkat, Shunsui slid his gaze to the left, eyeing the Class 3 that was moving into position so it could blind side him as soon as the Class 4 attacked.

"_Yare yare_," he muttered. "I'm too old for this."

His nerves shivered as a sudden cold prickle ran down his spine. He straightened sharply, eyes darting around the courtyard as he searched for the source of unease that was sending his instincts into overdrive.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up on end.

With a grinding, crunching sound, the earth beneath their feet shuddered. The Shinigami, Diviner, and demons in the courtyard all froze as one.

The ground trembled again, bucking sluggishly as though trying to toss them off their feet. Shunsui saw the feathered Class 2 turn his eyes beyond Shunsui to something behind him. The demon's eyes went wide, shock rippling across his face.

Shunsui spun, putting his back to Jūshirō's so he could look behind them—and his face went slack with astonishment as well.

The gaping chasm in the courtyard, a remnant from the last time the demons had forced entry into Soul Society, was now glowing a vivid, poisonous green. Tinted light drifted upward from the huge crack like steam, and the air around it turned hazy as the boundaries between two worlds opened.

"Suisei!" Shunsui said sharply. "What's happening?"

The boy Diviner took a step back, his eyes round and terror forming on his young face. "A demon is coming through," he whispered. "A demon . . . a strong demon . . ."

The child trailed off, trembling. Jūshirō grabbed boy's hand, squeezing tightly as he watched their enemies, trusting Shunsui to identify any coming threats from behind.

The green light flared, leaping skyward like giant flames. From deep in its center, rising out of the chasm, came a swirling black shadow. For a moment, just a bare moment, Shunsui felt an immense power, dark and crushing like the depths of the ocean and even colder. The glacial power brushed across his senses for the space of a heartbeat before it retracted, disappearing from his senses completely.

Shunsui couldn't sense the unfamiliar power anymore, but he could see its source, a dark, ever-shifting shadow that rose from the crack in the earth until it hovered in the green light, a weightless cloud of black.

His eyes couldn't make out anything within that swirl of opaque black power, but he could feel, on an instinctive level, a shape within the darkness. There was _something _hidden there, something more than shadows or disembodied power.

Something that now turned its attention to _him_.

He sensed it focus on him, felt the touch of an alien mind, and again its power brushed over his skin, an inquisitive, identifying touch. From within the darkness, two spots of red light flashed into being—glowing, gleaming crimson eyes.

The creature's attention shifted from Shunsui and lit upon the Class 2 demon, who stood paralyzed at the other end of the clearing, the petrified, hunted look of prey in his eyes. The creature's cloud of black shifted restlessly, coiling, rippling—and then it retracted, pulling tight to the creature's body.

Shunsui jerked around without thought, his instincts one step ahead of his conscious mind.

Blood sprayed from the Class 2's chest. The dark creature pulled its hand from the feathered demon's chest, its form still shrouded in black shadows that dripped off its body like tendrils of ebony fog—but now Shunsui could see the elegant, bat-like wings that rose from its back, the long, curving tail that flowed behind it.

The Class 2 crumpled, dead before it hit the ground. The creature turned its head toward them, red eyes glowing from a face that Shunsui couldn't make out through the shadowy cloak.

And then it was gone again, moving so fast that all Shunsui could tell was that it had moved—and not just vanished into nothing—but not _how _it had moved or even which direction. But he did know that it, whatever it was, had just killed a Class 2 demon with one strike, and it was loose in the city.

"What . . . on earth . . . was _that_?" Jūshirō gasped.

"Demon," Diviner Suisei whispered. "But . . . why would a demon kill one of its own?"

"_Yare yare_," Shunsui sighed. "That thing running about can't be good news, whatever side it's decided to be on. We should probably—Is that a Hell butterfly?"

Jūshirō and Diviner Suisei both turned sharply. Sure enough, a black butterfly fluttered determinedly toward them, flitting over the demon horde like they weren't there. Not that the horde was currently much of a threat. They were still reeling from the death of their leader—and several of them had fallen on the body of the Class 2, tearing it apart in a frenzy of gluttonous feeding.

Jūshirō lifted a hand, and the butterfly landed on his finger. He paused for a moment, listening, then sucked in a sharp breath.

"It's a message from Byakuya and Commander Yamamoto," he said in a rush. "We've been betrayed, the demons know our plan, and all teams are to fall back to the spell courtyard to protect Captain Matsuo and her counter spell." He looked at Shunsui with wide eyes, anger beginning to stir behind his dismay. "The demons we've been fighting are acting as distractions while the majority of the demons head for the spell courtyard. We have to get there _fast_."

Shunsui tipped his head back to look up at the heavy rainclouds. "Lucky for us our Class 2 is already dead. We just need to take care of this mess." He waved a hand at the demon horde, which was beginning to turn its attention back to them.

"We have no time to waste," Diviner Suisei said. "I will fight too."

Jūshirō turned to the boy, his eyes creased with worry. "Your job isn't fighting, Suisei. It's to back us up with Kidō—"

"I have no Kidō left in me," Suisei said. "I will fight."

He lifted both hands in front of him, and gold-red light bloomed in his palms, shooting up and down into a long, pole-shaped shaft of light. With a last flicker, it solidified into shining steel in the shape of—a giant tuning fork?

Shunsui did a double take, his brow furrowing as he took in the silver weapon, taller than the Diviner by over a foot with a long handle that branched into two straight arms with squared-off tops.

He had only a moment to feel baffled before Suisei darted over to the nearest demon, a hulking Class 3. The boy sprang into the air, lifted his weapon like a baseball bat, and gave it a mighty swing, whipping the heavy metal in a smooth arch to slam into the side of the demon's head.

The moment the metal arm of the tuning fork connected, a high-pitched ringing shattered the air, making Shunsui and Jūshirō both flinch back and duck down. The sound boomed outward—and the demon's head and torso exploded like a shattering wine glass, spraying blood, gore, and bits of bone across the courtyard.

Suisui landed lightly, resting the tuning fork on his shoulder. As he turned to find a new target, the demons nearest the boy backed away, gaping at his weapon.

Shunsui and Jūshirō exchanged a look.

Shunsui lifted his eyebrows. "It would seem you were a little quick to worry about him," he said.

Jūshirō pushed his dripping hair off his face. "So it would seem," he said weakly.

With a little smile, Shunsui lifted his hat off his head and let fall to the ground. "I'd say it's about time we got serious too, my friend."

Jūshirō nodded slowly. "Yes. We can't hold back any longer; it's already cost us too much time."

Together, they turned to face the demons. In near unison, they both lifted their weapons before them, heedless of the rain and wind, of the ringing boom of the child Diviner blasting another demon into shattered pieces.

Together, they spoke:

"_Bankai_."

* * *

**. x : X : x .**

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Ooh, exciting! If anyone happens to be wondering, yes, I am up-to-date in the manga as well as the anime, but no, there won't be any manga spoilers in this story. Not to worry!

Speaking of exciting though—I'm dying for the next manga chapter! Tite Kubo makes my cliff-hangers look like mildly suspenseful commercial breaks. I would try to hone my cliff-hanger skills to his level, but I've lately come to appreciate just how infuriating constant cliff-hangers can be when you're on the receiving end. So no, I won't start chapter-breaking in the middle of every_ single _battle scene.

But anyway, I also wanted to apologize for a certain short-sightedness on my part. As cute as the name Suisei is, I should have realized it would be confusing to see Suisei and Shunsui appearing together repeatedly in paragraphs and dialogue. I hope you didn't trip over their names too much. I tried to minimize the issue as much as possible, hence my overuse of _Diviner_ Suisei.

Lastly, I've tried to avoid using too much Japanese in dialogue in the story, limiting it to Kidō incantations and the like. However, Kyōraku Shunsui has a certain idiosyncratic expression that, to me, is such a part of his character that it really can't be ignored. However, this favourite expression of his doesn't translate into English all that well. I really didn't want him exclaiming "my goodness" or "hoo boy!" in the middle of a dramatic battle, so . . . I decided to make an exception and go with the Japanese instead. _Yare yare_, what a conundrum.

* * *

**GLOSSARY:**

**Sakkat** - Straw hat.

**Yare yare** - Similar to the English expressions of "oh jeez", "my goodness", "dear me", etc.


	29. Chapter 29

**Disclaimer: **Bleach does not belong to me, but Nakita, Seiko,Saiu, Shoku, Aranami, Nozomi, Hayate, Suisei, and Chizome do.

* * *

**DEVIL'S SMILE**

* * *

**Chapter 29**

* * *

Saiu pulled his claws from the gryphon demon's chest, letting the Class 2 scum fall to the wet ground. The other demons in the courtyard held very still, eyes submissively downcast as they tried with all their might to seem insignificant. None of them dared to draw his attention by looking at him.

Yet he could feel eyes on his back, probing gazes that tried to see through the darkness surrounding his body. Most demons could not use their Seikiteiruken as Saiu was now, enclosing himself in its cloaking nothingness, letting it shield his power and his presence so no one, not even a Diviner, could get a proper sense of him.

Saiu turned his head toward the two who watched him, eyes moving from one to the other. He had never seen a Shinigami Captain before; he wasn't sure what to think of these two. He could sense weakness in one of them, illness or disease that made the Shinigami smell like prey to most of the soul-devouring demons in the courtyard.

In the other Captain, Saiu could feel a great deal of power, and in the man's eyes he could see intelligence and cunning . . . but the Shinigami had clothed himself in a straw hat and pink kimono. Some kind of subterfuge?

Curiosity was a weak distraction when set against the pain of the Aranami's spell. The magic had now spread from the harpoon in his ankle through most of his body, an inferno of torment that drained his strength as he fought to keep his mind clear of the agony. He estimated that he had twenty, maybe thirty minutes left before the pain impaired him to the point where he could no longer fight. He did not have time to waste here.

First, he must find Ichigo.

Dismissing the Shinigami Captains, he cast his senses wide, seeking the familiar touch of his own magic: the demon mark he'd woven deep into Ichigo's soul. As his senses brushed over the hidden presences of one, two, three demon lords, he was tempted to hunt down them down and tear out their hearts as he had the Class 2, and leave Ichigo to his own devices. But no—Saiu was unfamiliar with the Shinigami city and needed to be updated on what was happening here. He would fetch Ichigo first. It wouldn't take long.

He caught the scent of his magic—and that of a forth demon lord as well. Unfurling his wings, Saiu launched into the sky, flashing across the courtyard and into the city streets faster than those Shinigami Captains could even track.

He could fly faster than he could run, combining flight with the demon equivalent of Shunpo until he could have out-paced even Aranami. Guided by his lock on Ichigo's demon mark, he whipped over the maze of city streets, little more than a passing flash of darkness to any demon or Shinigami who might have looked up as he went by.

With a sweep of his wings, he landed lightly on the half-crumbled roof of a three story building, crouching within the concealing cloak of his Seikiteiruken to peer into the rubble-strewn street below.

A demon lord stood in the center of the street, oblivious to Saiu's presence. It was Chizome, sire of the demon who had kidnapped Ichigo and whom Saiu had killed. A servant of Aranami's.

Chizome held his Seikiteiruken in one hand, shaped as a simple katana, his red eyes trained on something at the other end of the street. The demon lord had released his power and taken his true form, an ugly man-lizard cross. He bled from a dozen deep wounds, and his weapon flickered, shivering and rippling, as his control over it diminished along with his strength. Chizome was losing?

Chizome continued to stare down the street, tensed and waiting for the next attack. Saiu looked in the same direction, his eyes sweeping the shadows for Ichigo.

His breath caught in his throat.

Instead of Ichigo, his eyes found a Hollow standing in the center of the street. Its white skin seemed to glow in the dim light, its golden eyes bright behind its mask. It was human in shape, with thick claws completing its fingers and the characteristic empty hole in its chest.

But the Hollow had Ichigo's orange hair . . . Ichigo's Zanpakutō in its hand . . . and Ichigo's demon mark glowing over its left arm.

As Saiu's thoughts spun, trying to fill in the blanks to make what his eyes told him make sense, the Hollow howled, a bestial, otherworldly sound. It jumped forward with Sonído—the fastest Sonído Saiu had even seen. Chizome roared a battle cry, whipping his weapon around—too slow. The Zanpakutō slashed deep across Chizome's chest even as the Hollow retreated again, flashing backwards as Chizome's Seikiteiruken snapped towards it, grazing a shallow wound across the Hollow's forearm.

Saiu inhaled sharply. Even the smallest Kokushibyo wound was fatal, and there was no cure—but even as the thought formed in his mind, the wound on the Hollow's arm sucked closed, healing in seconds. High-speed regeneration.

Chizome panted, his weapon rippling more violently as he lost concentration. The Hollow watched him, silent, unmoving—was it waiting for something, planning its next attack, or staring mindlessly like the beast it seemed to be?

Saiu gave his head a little shake. No time for this.

He rose from his crouch and dove off the rooftop in the same motion. Chizome looked up a second before Saiu slammed into him, crushing him into the ground. Pinning the demon beneath him with his knees, wings arched over his back for balance, Saiu grabbed Chizome's head with both hands, sinking his claws deep. A twisting wrench, and Chizome's head tore from his neck in a fountain of blood.

Saiu threw the head off to the side, snapping his wings down to propel himself to his feet without putting weight on his useless right leg. He turned around.

The Hollow stared at him. It hadn't moved from its spot in the center of the street, arms hanging at its sides, posture straight and almost relaxed. Its enemy had just been attacked and decapitated in a bare second, yet the Hollow showed no sign of surprise or shock—or any emotion at all.

Saiu pushed his reiatsu down tight to his center to keep it hidden from the senses of the others in the city, then pulled his Seikiteiruken in, reforming it from the loose cloud of darkness to its usual form, a deadly, five-foot-long _nagamaki_: a pole-arm style weapon with a heavy, single-edged blade and a smooth haft of equal length. Holding the weapon in one hand, he braced his tail against the ground to compensate for his weak leg and folded his wings against his back in an attempt to look slightly less threatening.

"Ichigo?" he called quietly, watching those golden Hollow eyes for some flicker of thought or recognition.

Nothing. It watched him blankly, a low growl slipping from behind the mask. Had Ichigo succumbed entirely, become a Hollow with no human heart?

"Ichigo?" he asked one more time, jaw tightening. Useless humans. Stupid, weak humans. How much time had he wasted, chasing down this mindless beast? Useless, _worthless_ human boy.

Without the slightest change in stance or body language, the Hollow screamed its hunting cry and charged.

Saiu snapped his wings wide to brace himself as he caught the Hollow's sword on his nagamaki. With a grunt of effort, he heaved the Hollow back, irritated that it outweighed him and was probably physically stronger than him. But Saiu was faster, smarter, and far deadlier.

"_Useless_ human!" he snarled at the Hollow. "Now I have to kill you, too?"

The Hollow lifted two fingers to point at him and summoned a Cero. The red light spun at its claws' tips, swelling hugely, then exploded at Saiu. The demon prince didn't move, simply let his Seikiteiruken flow in front of the blast, swallowing it into nothing.

Saiu lifted his weapon, once again in the shape of a nagamaki, in both hands. He would take off the Hollow's head as he had Chizome's. He would waste no more time on Kurosaki Ichigo, no more effort—no more nothing. He'd been a fool to rely, however minimally, on a _human_. Aranami would have laughed to see Saiu now, sparring with a mad beast that he should have killed in one strike. He didn't need Ichigo. He would save the whole damned world by himself, without an ally of any kind. He'd always acted alone, lived alone, existed alone. He didn't want a _human_ for company in his darkest hour.

Agony screamed through his body, crushing him relentlessly, dragging constantly, unceasingly at his strength, at his mind, driving him closer and closer to his breaking point. His world had become a headlong charge to his own destruction, and he did _not_ want a human by his side, on his side, so he didn't have face it all alone. Hated by his enemies, feared by the ones he would die to save, and _he did not want just one ally who would fight beside him._

"Damn you, Ichigo!" he yelled.

Teeth clenched, fangs bared, he lunged at the Hollow, burning with rage—rage at the weak human who had failed him, and rage at himself for his own weakness. The Hollow howled and struck out with its sword. Holding his weapon in one hand, Saiu caught the blow on his blade, and with his free hand, he slashed his claws across the Hollow's face, cutting deep into the beast's mask.

The Hollow screamed, throwing itself back. It dropped its sword, clamping both claws hands over its face as it convulsed. Saiu stepped back quickly, tensing for an attack, suspecting a trick. His slash hadn't been mortally deep, had barely broken the skin beneath the mask.

Its scream died away, and the Hollow dropped its hands to hang limply at its sides. It went completely still, staring at nothing, three deep slices running diagonally through its mask.

_Crack_.

With a rapid snapping sound, cracks radiated outward from the slashes in the mask, spreading across the whole surface of the mask—and then it shattered.

Like breaking pottery, the Hollow mask shattered—and so did the rest of the Hollow. The white skin and red stripes, the hole in its chest, it all broke apart and dropped away as though its whole body had been a hollow clay cast. As the Hollow's white casing crumbled away, Ichigo was revealed beneath, human and whole and unhurt except for three shallow slashes that ran diagonally across his face.

For a moment, Ichigo stood, swaying slightly, his eyes blank and unseeing, as Saiu stared at him, shocked and speechless. Then Ichigo's eyes rolled back, and he crumpled.

Saiu reacted reflexively, jumping forward to catch the human with one arm. Ichigo fell into him, a dead weight, head lolling, eyes closed. Saiu let his Seikiteiruken dissolve, its power flowing back into the depths of his soul, and scooped Ichigo against him with both arms. He blinked down at the unconscious human, at a complete loss for what to do next.

Looking around uncertainly, Saiu dragged Ichigo to a nearby building and lowered him to the ground, awkwardly propping Ichigo's back against the wall. The boy's head bumped lifelessly against the wet brick, blood dribbling down his face to mix with the rain.

"Ichigo?" Saiu murmured without much hope of a response. "Curse it all," he muttered, rubbing the raindrops off his face with both hands and sighing. It would have been easier if Ichigo had stayed a Hollow and Saiu had killed him. "What am I to do with you now?"

Unable to bear the fire in his leg any longer, Saiu let himself sink down to sit beside Ichigo, facing the comatose human. Without his Seikiteiruken to hide his presense, it was costing Saiu too much to suppress his reiatsu enough to hide himself while in his released form. Closing his eyes in concentration, Saiu willed his demonic power to sleep, binding it with the sheath of his human-like form. His wings and tail retracted into his back, his horns and claws shrank to their smaller size, and his eyes returned to their usual pupil-less, red-black orbs and white sclera.

Fatigue swept over him, and without his full power to act as a buffer, the pain of the Kidō spell in his ankle bit into him even more viciously. Almost dizzy with the strain of it all, Saiu closed his eyes. Ichigo was unconscious, and there was no one else around to see him feeling so weak and hopeless, so he let himself slide forward until he was slumped against Ichigo, his head on the boy's shoulder, his speared leg stretched out to one side.

Even dripping wet, Ichigo's shoulder was pleasantly warm against Saiu's demon-cool skin. He shivered for a moment with exhaustion. He still had plenty of reiatsu left, but mentally he was at his limit, and the pain continued to suck away at his waning endurance. How long before his thoughts began to dull and his reflexes slowed?

Thirty seconds of indulgence in self-pity was all he allowed himself. Pushing himself straight again, Saiu looked at his hand, flexing his fingers to unsheathe his claws. With quick, careful precision, he pricked the pads of his first three fingers until blood welled on each. He lifted his hand and touched his bleeding fingertips to the cuts on Ichigo's face.

Their blood mingled, forging a connection that ran deeper than the physical. Saiu closed his eyes and felt for that bond, a body-to-body link that could act as a soul-to-soul conduit. It was the method by which a demon could draw on the reiatsu of another without causing the donor excruciating pain; some form of a link between bodies was needed to represent a link between souls—because _actually_ linking souls was not something any demon or human would do casually.

Saiu did not intend to feed off Ichigo's reiatsu—instead, he did the opposite. All demons who could steal reiatsu were just as capable of giving it back, but most never bothered to learn the difficult, delicate technique. After all, giving power precluded a desire to help someone, a wish that was unfathomable to most demons. Saiu, fortunately, was more highly evolved than that; Ichigo was a useful tool, and the boy did Saiu no good unconscious.

He pulled in a deep, measured breath, and as he exhaled just as slowly, he let a trickle of his reiatsu slide to the tips of his fingers. His power touched Ichigo's reiatsu, oil on water, unmixing for the space of a heartbeat. Saiu exhaled again, strengthening the link between them, and that trickle of his reiatsu assimilated seamlessly into Ichigo's.

Saiu let a little more power slide into Ichigo, keeping the flow as light as possible. Just enough to boost Ichigo's strength, just enough to bring Ichigo back to full consciousness after his Hollow ordeal.

A minute or two more, and then they would see about evening out the odds between Soul Society and Aranami's demons.

* * *

**. o : O : o .**

* * *

For the first time all day, Ichigo felt warm.

It was actually kind of strange. His sluggish, sleepy mind tried to identify the anomaly. This pleasant, tingling warmth that made him feel like he'd just sunk into a hot bath after an exhausting day . . . it felt like it was coming from _inside_ him and was radiating outward, instead of the other way around like it should. Huh.

His eyelids fluttered as he moved gradually from sleep to waking. His mouth twisted into a frown. He felt weird. _Really_ weird. But not exactly in a bad way. Gentle waves of warmth radiated out from his chest, making his skin tingle and his heart beat faster, a zing of adrenaline flowing on each small tide of heat. He felt both incredibly relaxed and fiercely energized. And that adrenaline-like pulse in his middle was getting stronger, a natural high like the swooping rush you got when a rollercoaster went upside-down.

"Ichigo?"

He knew that voice, soft, lilting, thrumming-in-his-bones attractive. How could he forget it? That was Saiu's voice, the youngest demon prince of Hell, a creature both beautiful and terrifying, the demon who'd taken him as a prisoner, marked him as property, and even possessed him for a short time. And, most importantly, Saiu was also the only damned demon who _didn't_ want the world destroyed.

But what was he doing _here_?

Ichigo's eyes flew open and he jerked forward—before he realized that Saiu's face was only a foot away from his. His chin smacked into Saiu's forehead as he pitched forward, knocking the demon prince flat on his back and landing on top of him.

"Shit!" Ichigo gasped, shoving himself upright again. "What the hell were you doing, leaning over me like that?" he demanded.

Saiu shot him a nasty look, rubbing his forehead with one hand. "Gratitude would be more appropriate," he said frostily, sitting up as well. "I do not gift my own power to just anyone."

Ichigo blinked. "Gift your power? What?"

"Do you normally feel such strength after near death?" Saiu asked caustically.

Come to mention it, he didn't. Is that what the warmth had been? Saiu _giving_ Ichigo power? Who would have thought demons could do that?

"What's got you in such a snit?" Ichigo grumbled, not quite sure he wanted to thank Saiu yet. He glanced around at the demolished street. "And what are you doing here, in Soul Society?"

Saiu lifted one eyebrow. "I'm saving the world. What are you doing here?"

"Saving the world," Ichigo said, smiling before he remembered who he was talking to. But Saiu wasn't pulling the scary demon-prince act this time. In fact, he looked far from his usual princely self, sitting slouched in the muddy street with his hair plastered to his face from the rain and an annoyed look on his too-handsome face.

As Ichigo looked at him, Saiu's expression smoothed to an almost languorous calm. His dark, red-black eyes lifted to Ichigo's, snagging his gaze and holding it fast. Ichigo's heart jumped into his throat as Saiu lifted his hand, his fingertips coated in blood. Without shifting his gaze from Ichigo, he slowly put one finger to his lips and licked a trickle of blood from his claw.

Ichigo shuddered. Creepy demon.

"So, uh . . ." He cleared his throat. "How long was I out?"

Even as he asked, his stomach clenched as he remembered Chizome standing over him, just before the demon slammed his weapon right through Ichigo's torso. He pressed both hands over his chest, comforted by the strong, steady beat of his heart. If he strained his memory, he could also recall a black miasma of savage hatred and vicious cunning that had burned his mind and soul. And that meant only one thing: his Hollow had come out to play again.

He looked around and saw Chizome—in pieces. He swallowed hard. "Did I do that?" he asked in a whisper.

Saiu looked at the demon's remains as well. "No. I did."

"Oh. Okay," he said, not sure if he was relieved or not. "So, uh, how much do you know about what's going on in the city? When did you get here?"

As Ichigo filled Saiu in on what had happened since they'd discovered the destruction spell, Ichigo watched the demon prince closely. There was something different about Saiu, something that had changed. That spine-chilling, soul-deep stare of his was the same, and he still seemed to go out of his way to make Ichigo uncomfortable, but deeper than that, Saiu was different this time.

Steely, unyielding determination burned in him, the same kind of unwavering, resolute willpower that Ichigo himself felt when he knew he could not fail no matter. But at the same time, a new kind of vulnerability lurked behind Saiu's eyes, a frightened desperation that made Ichigo wonder exactly how old Saiu was.

It was a fear, an urgency, that Ichigo knew well: it was the same fierce, frantic denial he'd felt as Chizome's blade came down for the killing blow. Saiu could see his death coming, just a breath away, and he felt the same screaming need to cling to life that Ichigo had faced more times than he cared to count.

"Chizome was not the only demon lord that my brother sent to ensure his plans," Saiu said when Ichigo had finished his update. "There are three others, all converging on one location, the courtyard with the power-gathering spell. The demon lords will slaughter the Shinigami. I can destroy them, but your aid would be useful."

Ichigo nodded, still studying the demon prince. "Saiu?"

The demon looked at him, eyebrows lifted. "Yes?"

Ichigo hesitated a moment. "Are . . . are you afraid?"

Saiu stared at him for a moment. "Demon lords do not frighten me, Ichigo. I have not sunk so low as to be in any true danger from _them_."

"I didn't mean the demon lords . . ." Ichigo gave his head a little shake. "Never mind."

Saiu's eyes narrowed, suddenly gleaming bright red, and for a moment, Ichigo thought Saiu was going to lash out at him. Then the demon prince looked away, reaching for a nearby hunk of crumbled wall to lever himself to his feet.

"You are a very strange human, Kurosaki Ichigo."

"You're pretty weird too, for a demon," he told Saiu as he lumbered to his feet and retrieved Zangestu from the middle of the street. "Why'd you give me some of your power, anyway? That's not exactly a demony sort of thing to do."

Saiu shrugged. "You were unconscious. I had no real desire to carry you." He caught Ichigo's dubious look. "Do not mistake my gift for _concern_, human," he added, his voice dropping lower, cold warning creeping into his tone.

"Okay, okay," Ichigo muttered, rolling his eyes. "You're a big, bad, scary demon prince from Hell who doesn't give a damn about some human. I get it."

"I think I'm going to rip out your insolent tongue when this is over."

"Only if we survive."

"Pray that you don't."

Ichigo snorted. "Are we going, or what?"

Saiu pushed away from the wall he was leaning on—and pitched forward as one of his legs gave out.

"Whoa!" Ichigo lunged forward and grabbed the demon around the middle, pulling him upright. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

Saiu's face was tight, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he gritted his teeth. Ichigo steadied him before dropping his hands. Saiu stood for a moment, wobbling, then wrapped one fist around Ichigo's sleeve to keep himself upright.

"It seems . . . I've overestimated . . . the limits of my stamina," he ground out.

"Are you injured? What—?" He looked down at Saiu's legs, expecting to see a gory wound that could make a being as ridiculously strong as Saiu unable to stand under his own power. For a moment, he didn't see anything except a greenish shimmer around Saiu's right ankle. He squinted—and suddenly he could see it, a sickly green, foot-long harpoon sunk right through the bone in Saiu's leg.

"Shit! What's that?"

"Kidō binding spell, compliments of my brother," Saiu muttered. "It's . . ." He closed his eyes for a moment as though gathering his strength. "It's more than I have the power to break . . . and it is rather . . . inconvenient."

"Damn. That's got to hurt."

"Significantly more than you can even imagine."

"Damn," Ichigo said again. "Okay, well, you can't fight demon lords like this. We'll have to take care of that spell first."

"There is nothing _we_ can do about it, neither you nor I. The spell is far too powerful for that."

"What, you're not even going to _try_? If we both hit it at the same time—"

"A waste of time and energy," Saiu snapped impatiently, waving one hand in a dismissive gesture. "I have endured it thus far, and I will continue to do so."

"I'm not exactly your average Shinigami here," Ichigo insisted. "I could—"

"No."

Ichigo surveyed Saiu's face; the demon prince wasn't even listening to him, having already decided that Ichigo didn't know what he was talking about. Ichigo harrumphed under his breath. If that's how it was going to work, then fine.

"Put the spell out your mind and concentrate on the battle to come," Saiu told him, command in his voice. "We will need to—"

"Saiu? Shut the hell up."

Saiu's eyes popped wide with appalled insult. Ichigo took advantage of the demon's momentary shock to pull Saiu's claws out of his sleeve—and then he gave the demon prince a hard shove backwards.

Caught completely off guard, Saiu stumbled. His leg buckled and he fell, landing hard on his rear in a muddy puddle.

"I ain't one your demon minions. I don't have to do what you say," Ichigo told him, lifting Zangetsu high over his head in both hands. "Now sit there and hold still. You don't want me to miss that harpoon and take off your leg, right?"

"_Stupid human!_" Saiu snarled. "You can't—"

"Get ready," Ichigo said right over top of Saiu's words. "Here I go!"

His Hollow mask swept over his face, cold and heavy, as he tightened his grip on Zangetsu and pumped as much power as he could into the blade.

"Getsuga—_Tenshō!_" he roared, bringing the sword slamming down.

In the moment of his swing, he saw Saiu grab his leg just above the harpoon, his eyes flashing to solid, burning red as he too threw the full force of his reiatsu against the spell.

Zangetsu's blade hit the harpoon at the exact same moment that Saiu blasted it with his reiatsu—

And everything exploded.

Ichigo's ears rang in the silence that eventually settled over the city block. Rain peppered his face, cold and annoying. His body ached like he'd been beaten.

"Hmph," he grunted, rolling stiffly onto his stomach and pushing himself up on hands and knees. Somehow, he'd managed to keep his grip on Zangetsu when the explosion had thrown him half a block away. Giving his head a shake, he lumbered to his feet.

"Saiu?" he called a little hoarsely. "Oy, Saiu! Where're you? Did it work?" He looked around, trying to get his bearings. The entire street was flattened, not a single building still standing. Shit, how badly had that blast hurt Saiu?

He started to turn around again—and a kick slammed into his back, throwing him face-first into the gritty mud that the street had become. He rolled onto his back, lifting Zangetsu—

Saiu landed on his chest, knocking the wind out of him. The demon prince sat down on Ichigo's stomach, one knee on either side of him, and pressed his claws delicately against Ichigo's jugular. Ichigo froze. The demon bared his fangs, his eyes glowing with terrifying rage.

"If you ever," Saiu hissed, "_ever_ do something like that again, I will tear your throat out and feed your corpse to my hell-hounds. Do you understand me, Kurosaki Ichigo?"

"I understand," he whispered, afraid to nod. He swallowed, the movement of his throat pushing his skin against the deadly sharp points of Saiu's claws.

"Know that I spare you this time only because your ridiculous, impulsive, utterly reckless plan . . ." A sudden, triumphant grin spread across Saiu's face, "actually succeeded."

"It did?" Ichigo asked eagerly, starting to sit up and almost opening a vein when Saiu's claws scraped against his skin.

The demon prince made an exasperated sound. "Be thankful the release of the spell's power did not kill you." He rose to his feet, much of his usual grace back in his movements. He stared down at Ichigo for a moment, then shook his head. "Stupid human." He held out his hand.

Ichigo blinked at the offered hand, then grinned and grabbed it, letting Saiu pull him up. He glanced down at Saiu's leg, but the only sign he'd had a spell explode from inside his ankle were two ragged tears in his pant leg.

"I didn't realize it would blow up like that. It didn't hurt you, did it?"

"I am not nearly so fragile as you seem to think," Saiu replied tartly.

Ichigo gave a small snort. "Yeah, now that you're not collapsing all over the place."

Saiu gave him a long, dangerous look. "Do I need to educate you again in why you should fear me, Ichigo?"

"I'm way past my quota of fear for the day," he said. "Besides, it would be a real waste of effort for you to have boosted my power and all that only to turn around and snuff me five minutes later."

"I think the satisfaction would be fair compensation."

"Ha, yeah right." He smirked broadly. "So tell me, what were you really so ticked off about just now? That I broke that Kidō spell without your permission—or that I knocked you on your ass first?"

"I am most definitely going to kill you. Impertinent brat."

"Hey, don't call me a brat when you don't look any older than me."

"If you actually think we are the same age, you are _far_ more dim-witted than I thought." Saiu shot him an aggravated glower, but Ichigo was certain he could see amusement behind the demon's dark eyes. Well, almost certain. Maybe.

Ichigo's thoughts turned to the spell they'd just broken, and his humour faded. He looked at Saiu again. "That Kidō spell your brother got you with—it would have killed you, wouldn't it? That's why you were afraid."

Saiu went very still, looking at Ichigo with an unreadable expression. He was silent for so long Ichigo thought he wasn't going to answer. Then the demon took a deep breath and let it out as a sigh.

"I am still afraid, Ichigo," he said very quietly. "But not of death. Demons exist hand-in-hand with death; none of us fear it as do you humans."

"Then what _are_ you afraid of?"

Saiu looked north, towards the courtyard where Ichigo could sense Tōshirō's reiatsu. He couldn't sense Nakita anymore, and it worried him.

"I fear failure," Saiu whispered. "You are too young, Ichigo . . . too innocent to understand what failure now would bring. The death of every soul in this city would be the very least of it." He looked at Ichigo then, and Ichigo felt ice whisper down his spine at the look in the demon's eyes. "The fate of everything, of all the worlds, is such that even I, who am myself a breed of the darkest evil, fear it. Should I fail."

A moment passed in silence as Ichigo tried to imagine it and couldn't. Saiu lived in the deepest, darkest part of Hell—and _he_ was afraid of what was going to happen to the world if his second brother became the new ruler of Hell.

Shaking off the cold fog of fear that Saiu's words had awoken in him, Ichigo crossed his arms and faced the demon. "We," he said shortly.

Saiu looked at him blankly. "What?"

"_We_," Ichigo said again. "Not 'I'. Should _we_ fail. Which we won't. So quit worrying about it already."

Saiu blinked at him. Then he rolled his eyes upward in a very human way and gave Ichigo an impatient look. "Would you care to resume our saving of the world now, or would you rather irritate me awhile longer with your sentimentalities?"

"Let's save the world."

"Agreed then."

Ichigo grinned at Saiu, not knowing why he suddenly felt he could trust the demon prince but certain he could anyway, at least until this was over. Maybe it was because Saiu wasn't treating him like prey anymore, or prey-turned-useful-tool—though he was still treating Ichigo like a half-wit human nobody. Maybe it was because Saiu had, probably for the first time, been completely honest and open with Ichigo about what he was thinking. Either way, Ichigo wasn't about to start doubting his instincts now.

Saiu looked back at him for a long moment, his expression empty. Then his lips curved and his eyes lit, and he smiled, a fierce, hungry, predator's smile—a smile that called for blood, that demanded violence, that sought death. The smile of the true warrior before he steps onto the battlefield.

Together, they turned to face north, where the growing pressure of too many demonic auras was growing.

Ichigo took a deep breath and let it out. With a demon prince at his side, he was going to save the world. Together, they could do it. They had to.

But first, they had some demon lord asses to kick.

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**. x : X : x .**

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**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

I've come to suspect that FFnet author alerts and/or story alerts haven't been working lately, at least not for _Devil's Smile_. The last two chapters of this story have seen far fewer hits than usual, not to mention a lack of reviews as well. If you're set up for author alerts or story alerts and actually received one for this chapter, please let me know. I hate thinking that a bunch of readers are waiting (im)patiently for weeks on end for the next chapter without the slightest inkling that new chapters are already up and ready for reading.

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**GLOSSARY**:

**Nagamaki **- A Japanese pole weapon with a large, heavy blade like a long sword, 2 to 4 feet in length, and a shaft 2 to 3 feet in length. The blade is single-edged and bevelled along the back edge to reduce its weight. *Saiu's nagamaki is 5 feet long with a haft and blade of equal length. Being a Seikiteiruken (and not a solid wood and metal weapon), his nagamaki is immune to the weapon's traditional disadvantage of weight.


	30. Chapter 30

**Disclaimer: **Bleach does not belong to me, but Nakita, Seiko, Saiu, Shoku, Aranami, Nozomi, Hayate, Suisei, and Chizome do**.**

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**DEVIL'S SMILE**

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**Chapter 30**

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Tōshirō braced his feet against the wet stones of the courtyard, pulling air deep into his lungs with careful rhythm. He kept his eyes on the enemy, watching, waiting, ready.

Shoku faced him from a dozen paces away, staring, analyzing, calculating. He had his feet set wide, his sickle blade held out to one side, its severed tip glittering wetly on the ground between them. Shoku held his other hand at chest height, fingers slightly curled, prepared to give form to the Diviner Commander's other great strength: Kidō.

That was what Tōshirō had to defeat: speed and Kidō. Tōshirō had a great deal of power at his disposal, and Hyōrinmaru's attack strength far out-stripped Shoku's blade. The problem was that Tōshirō couldn't match Shoku's speed to hit him at full force, while Shoku made up for his lack of attack power by using offensive Kidō instead.

But to defeat Tōshirō, Shoku now had two major obstacles to overcome: Tōshirō's superior attack power, and Shoku's inability to defend himself against Hiren's power.

"Well, little bastard," Shoku growled. "This changes things, doesn't it?"

Tōshirō slid his leading foot a few inches forward. "Doesn't it?" he whispered.

The sky above them rumbled ominously as Tōshirō's slowly increasing reiatsu churned the rainclouds into a true storm. With a deafening crack, lightning split the sky.

Tōshirō let out a yell as he threw himself forward. Shoku mirrored him, his face twisted with a mix of hatred and disdain. And the contest began, with death as the loser's reward.

Tōshirō lunged in, swinging Hyōrinmaru in a horizontal slash. Shoku ducked, whipping his sickle towards Tōshirō's middle. Tōshirō leaped upward, planting one foot on the upturned side of Shoku's sickle and forcing in downward with his weight. He struck with Hyōrinmaru.

Shoku swung his hand at Tōshirō's face, and blue lightning erupted from his fingers.

Tōshirō threw himself backwards, slicing through the center of the Kidō blast with his blade. He hit the ground on his shoulders and tucked into a backwards roll. Coming to his feet, he fell back into guard position, his jaw clenched.

Kidō without any incantation whatsoever. Tōshirō had already seen Shoku cast Kidō with only the spell name for an incantation, but to be able to cast with no words needed at all—!

Shoku grinned nastily at Tōshirō's expression and launched into the attack again. Tōshirō gave ground, blocking again and again with Hyōrinmaru's deadly blade. Again and again, Shoku pulled his attacks, keeping their blades from touching with expert skill—but it was costing him. All of Shoku's superior speed was going into preventing his sickle from connecting with Hyōrinmaru and being cut by Hiren's power. For the moment, they were matched.

As Shoku spun and ducked down beside Tōshirō, aiming for his hamstring, Tōshirō saw an opening—and took it. Reversing his blade, he whipped it around, curving it alongside his body. His blade caught Shoku's sickle, cutting another two inches off the tip in one smooth slice.

Shoku smiled—and Tōshirō's face went cold.

With a triumphant shout, Shoku dropped his sickle and grabbed Hyōrinmaru's hilt with both hands, his fingers clamping down over Tōshirō's. Throwing all his weight into it, Shoku shoved Hyōrinmaru toward Tōshirō—and because Tōshirō had turned his blade to counterattack Shoku, the lethal edge was directed toward his own body.

"No!"

Tōshirō twisted, trying to wrench Hyōrinmaru from Shoku's grip, but the Diviner had the weight and leverage advantage combined with a double-handed grip. Face twisted in a savage grin, Shoku drove Hyōrinmaru into Tōshirō.

The blade hit his upper thigh and sank in.

"Hiren!" Tōshirō yelled, letting Shoku's push him to the ground to buy himself an extra moment before the blade took off his leg. His skin and muscle parted with no resistance as the edge went deeper.

The coiling red symbols on the blade flashed brightly—and then vanished. Hyōrinmaru's blade hit bone and stopped, a normal sword once again.

Panting with pain and adrenaline, Tōshirō lay twisted half on his side, his sword deep in his flesh. Shoku pinned him down, his hands clenched tightly over Tōshirō's on Hyōrinmaru's hilt. They glared at one another, a stalemate where neither could attack, a lull that would end the moment Shoku loosened his grip on Tōshirō's hands.

"That was a close one, wasn't it, boy-Captain?" Shoku hissed, his face a bare half-foot away from Tōshirō's. "Still thanking Kita for her _gift_?"

Tōshirō managed a harsh smile. "I am."

"Then you're more of a fool than I thought."

"The real fool here isn't me, Shoku. Do you really think that once this is done, you can just go back to being Diviner-Commander like nothing happened?"

Shoku snorted. "Do you really think anything will be the same after this? When Hell has a new master, _everything_ will change." He grinned. "I, for one, welcome the change. Makes life more interesting, doesn't it?"

The Diviner suddenly pulled one hand from Hyōrinmaru's hilt, gold light bursting from his palm.

Tōshirō rolled onto his back, pulling Hyōrinmaru out of his leg and wrenching it from Shoku's other hand. The gold spell—Crawling Rope, a binding spell—whipped around Tōshirō's throat and shoulders, but Hiren's power had already lit up Hyōrinmaru's blade like fire, and he slashed in an arc above him, slicing through the Kidō and just missing Shoku's face as the Diviner rolled away.

The next moment, they were both on their feet, once more facing each other. Shoku's sickle was back in his hand, now nearly a hand span shorter than it had started. Tōshirō ground his teeth as he used his reiatsu to slow the bleeding of his leg. Damn it! Even with Hiren's power, he was wounded and Shoku didn't even have a scratch. He would not lose. _He wouldn't!_

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The advantage wasn't enough right now. He needed more. He'd have to take a chance.

He breathed deeply one more time, then locked eyes with Shoku.

"Sit upon the frozen heavens, _Hyōrinmaru!_"

Pale blue light shimmered down his blade, and he held his breath, praying that Hiren's power would stay with his Zanpakutō through its Shikai's release, that Hiren's power wasn't tied into Hyōrinmaru's sealed form only.

He lifted Hyōrinmaru—and it gleamed with red designs, Hiren's power lighting the blade even brighter than before. He pulled the crescent blade from the hilt's base, and it too glowed with Hiren's power.

Tōshirō grinned tightly. "Now," he whispered.

He sprang forward, closing the gap between him and Shoku in a heartbeat. Shoku danced backwards, and Tōshirō hurled the crescent blade, letting the chain slide through his fingers. Shoku ducked, dodging to the side. Tōshirō closed his fingers tight about the chain and swung it. It wouldn't matter how much force was behind the crescent when it struck Shoku—if it touched him, it would cut him.

Shoku dove for the ground, rolling to his feet again instantly. Tōshirō lunged in, aiming to impale Shoku. Again, the Diviner slipped away, but it was a closer miss this time. Much closer.

His expression hard with the force of his concentration, Tōshirō went on the offensive, driving Shoku back relentlessly, using his sword and crescent to keep Shoku evading constantly. He whipped both blades at his enemy ferociously, and as they cut through the air, shimmers rippled in their wake, like he was slicing through water instead of air.

He pressed Shoku hard, aiming for one of two results: that Shoku would make a mistake and get cut, or that Shoku would be forced to block with his sword, and Tōshirō could destroy his weapon.

Pivoting on one foot, Tōshirō threw his crescent in a curving arc, then sprang in the other direction, ready for Shoku when he was forced to dodge. The Diviner sprang over the flying crescent, spinning to face Tōshirō as he rushed Shoku from behind. Holding his blade horizontally, Tōshirō made a sharp sideways slash, aiming for Shoku's neck.

With the crescent's chain behind him and nowhere to evade, Shoku brought his sickle around, the curved blade gleaming—and useless for stopping Hyōrinmaru.

The blades struck, Hyōrinmaru taking the sickle halfway down its length, cutting it cleanly. Tōshirō had just an instant to feel a flash of triumph—and then he realized his mistake.

Shoku was already ducking, letting Hyōrinmaru's undiminished swing sail over his head. He lunged in under Tōshirō's guard, his half-length sickle in his hand and still deadly. Kidō flashed from his other hand, another gold binding spell.

Tōshirō yanked the chain of his crescent, pulling it between his chest and Shoku's blade at the very last moment. Metal crunched as Shoku slammed his sickle into Tōshirō's shoulder. The chain stopped the blade from cutting too deeply, but the binding spell was spinning around Tōshirō's arm and torso, trapping his arm against his chest. The spell snapped tight, almost strangling him before he got Hyōrinmaru's blade around and forced Shoku back.

The Diviner sprang away, light-footed and smug. Tōshirō gulped air, breathing too heavily as he struggled against the Kidō binding, trying to work his arm free. The spell was tangled around his upper torso and neck, pinning his left arm awkwardly across his chest where he'd swung it to pull his crescent chain in front of Shoku's sickle. The chain was still in his fist, making it and his crescent useless unless he could free his arm.

"Ah, don't be upset that you've lost, baby-Captain," Shoku said with cruel, mocking sympathy. "Better warriors than you have fallen to me. I am a Captain-Commander, after all."

"I haven't lost yet," Tōshirō growled. "Don't get ahead of yourself."

He could cut the Kidō with Hiren's power, but Hyōrinmaru's size worked to his disadvantage now; it would be almost impossible to cut, one-handed, the Kidō ropes wrapped tight to his body, not without cutting himself in the process. It would be a delicate procedure at best.

Shoku grinned nastily, and Tōshirō knew he wasn't going to have time for delicate procedures of any kind.

_Hiren_, he thought, directing the words inward, _help me with this_.

Her answering acknowledgement was like a warm caress within him, but he had no idea if she understood him or not. No time to find out.

Gritting his teeth, he spun Hyōrinmaru is his grip and snapped the sword up. Shoku charged. Wasting no time, Tōshirō pressed the edge of his blade into the Kidō. It sank through the golden ropes like they weren't there, cut through his kosode, touched his skin—and stopped.

_The enemy_, Hiren whispered, _let us cut the enemy_.

Tōshirō spun to the side as Shoku struck at him, tossing his crescent's chain into the air and looping it easily around Shoku's outstretched sword arm. Ice coated Shoku's arm and ran up his shoulder. Yanking hard on the chain to pull Shoku off balance, Tōshirō lashed out with Hyōrinmaru.

"_Enkosen!_" Shoku yelled, an edge of panic sharpening his voice.

A golden shield in the shape of a shallow dome sprang up between Shoku and Hyōrinmaru—and Hyōrinmaru cut right through it. The blade swung into Shoku beneath his chained, ice-coated arm and sank into his side—and then Tōshirō's hand, the sword hilt in his grip, hit the golden shield and stopped.

Shoku jumped back, tearing his arm free of the icy chain. Blood soaked his right side.

Tōshirō stepped back from the gold shield as it faded away. It had achieved its purpose. Hyōrinmaru's blade may have been able to cut through it, but Tōshirō's hand hadn't. The obstruction had stopped him from completing his strike and delivering a mortal blow.

"Perhaps the odds are a little more even than you thought, Shoku," Tōshirō said. His eyes narrowed. "_Enkosen_—that's Bakudō #39, a much higher level spell than the others you've used so far. So you can only cast very low-level Kidō with no incantation at all?"

"Hmph," Shoku grunted. "You think you've won now, brat? You think you've got me figured out, that I've hit the bottom of my bag of tricks? Then you're a fool."

He lifted his sickle, seeming unfazed by its missing second half. "You think a _Captain-Commander_ has no more to his weapon than a piece of unremarkable metal? You already know that Akkihasaiki are capable of much more than that—after all, you're fighting with the very impressive power of one."

Tōshirō's eyes widened. Shoku's weapon had some kind of special ability as well? He clenched his teeth, berating himself for not seeing it sooner. The Diviner already had such skill and power that having an Akkihasaiki special ability on top of that seemed almost superfluous.

Shoku dropped into a crouch and pressed the blunt, chopped end of his blade to the ground as though it still had a point. He looked at Tōshirō, and there was no sign of his usual cutting mockery. He was deadly, dangerously serious now.

"Would you like to see the true power of my Akkihasaiki, Shinigami? I think perhaps our weapons are more literally named than Zanpakutō. My blade is called Kagewōtsusu, and you shall quickly see why."

_Kagewōtsusu?_ Tōshirō frowned. Kagewōtsusu was an expression that meant the mirror image of something. The mirror image of what?

Shoku's reiatsu surged. White light glowed down the length of his blade until it touched the ground. For a moment, nothing happened. Then white flashed out from the point of contact, sweeping outward along the ground like a giant white puddle. Tōshirō flinched back when it reached his feet, but it just slid beneath him—and the ground under his feet was no longer rough stone but cold and smooth.

For a second, Tōshirō thought he was standing on ice. But no—it wasn't ice. It was glass. Smooth, shining white glass spread along the ground from Shoku's blade until it had formed a perfect octagon thirty feet across with Shoku in its center.

The glass glowed for a moment, pausing as though gathering itself for the next step. The light suddenly sucked to the edges of the octagon—and leapt skyward. The white light arched overhead to form a huge bubble with Tōshirō and Shoku inside it. With another flash, the light solidified and died away.

Tōshirō stared, clutching Hyōrinmaru in both hands. What _was_ this?

He and Shoku now stood in the center of a faceted sphere of, not glass, but mirrors. The octagon under their feet was matched by an octagon high over their heads, and the two were connected by a double row of rectangular faces that encircled them. Including the octagons above and below, eighteen mirrored panels surrounded them.

For all that they appeared to be regular mirrors, Tōshirō couldn't see his reflection in any of them. Instead, eighteen Shokus smirked at him from every direction. Nothing else was reflected, just Shoku eighteen times. Were these normal mirrors, they would have reflected their reflections back again, creating an infinite number of Shokus—but there were only the eighteen crystal-clear replicas, one on each face of the dome that was shaped so much like a giant, faceted gem.

Tōshirō looked back to the real Shoku. "It suits your ego, I suppose," he said, "but I don't see the threat. Despite what you may think, I'm not an amateur to be distracted by your reflection."

"Oh," Shoku said softly, "I think you'll find yourself very, _very_ distracted by my reflections, baby-Captain. Shall I demonstrate?" He lifted one hand and pointed a finger at Tōshirō. "_Sōkatsui_."

A blast of blue lightning erupted from his finger and shot for Tōshirō—and a blast of blue lightning erupted from the fingers of every one of Shoku's reflections, jumping out of the mirrors and blasting towards him.

Tōshirō leaped skywards and whipped Hyōrinmaru downward. An ice dragon flowed from the blade and spun itself around him, even as the lightning struck. The ice dragon burst apart into shards of ice, taking half the blasts of lightning with it. The glass sphere was filled with lightning and there was nowhere to dodge.

The remaining bolts struck him, blazing through his body like fire. He hit the mirrored floor, convulsing helplessly in a seizure caused by the electrical current searing him.

"Oh, poor baby Captain. Now what will you do?"

Hiren purred anxiously to him, urging him to rise and fight, but Tōshirō's head was spinning so much he couldn't tell which way was up. Groggy and disoriented, he staggered to his feet. He lifted Hyōrinmaru in front of him and tried to remember what to do next.

"Hm, I do like that expression on your face," Shoku said cheerfully. "You scowl too much; this is definitely an improvement. Bewildered half-consciousness is far more amusing."

Tōshirō gave his head a little shake, trying to clear the fuzziness from his thoughts.

"Hyōrinmaru!" he yelled, whipping his sword downward.

The ice dragon burst forth and rocketed toward Shoku. The Diviner sprang away, and the ice dragon slammed full on into the mirror wall—and bounced off, careening wildly back at Tōshirō.

He released his reiatsu's hold on it at the last second and it turned to water, splashing over him in a small tidal wave.

"_Shakkahō!_"

Tōshirō threw himself down and into a roll as red light filled the sphere. The red blasts of Kidō ricocheted everywhere. Tōshirō managed to evade the first round—but they kept hitting the mirrors and reflecting back again and again, flying everywhere throughout the globe-shaped prison without losing any momentum.

A blast caught him in the elbow, then the knee. In another heartbeat, the rest found him, smashing into him from every direction. He collapsed again to the mirrored floor, unable to withstand so many attacks.

"Do you understand now how foolish it was of you to think you could defeat me?" Shoku asked from somewhere above him. "I already defeated you once; a wise man would have accepted it then."

"I haven't . . . lost . . . yet," Tōshirō panted, levering himself painfully to his feet with Hyōrinmaru as a prop.

"You lost the moment I trapped you in my _awabako_—my bubble chamber. Don't you get it? _I_ control the reflections; they're reflections of me, after all. Nothing that reflects in these mirrors will hit me. Every attack, mine or yours, will find its way to you. You've lost, boy. Maybe if you accept it now, it won't hurt so much when you die."

Tōshirō lifted his eyes, locking gazes with Shoku. The Diviner didn't look amused any more. He looked almost pitying, though no less merciless for it. Tōshirō could understand where the pity was coming from. He was fighting nineteen-to-one with nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. It was impossible odds even with Hyōrinmaru _and_ Hiren to help him.

Shoku sighed. "I don't like using Kagewōtsusu's _awabako_. Once I do, there's no challenge left in any battle. No fun at all. Without risk—there isn't much satisfaction in victory, is there? I'll give you credit though, Shinigami, for forcing me to bring it out. Not many have managed to push me this far."

He lifted his arm, fingers spread and aimed for Tōshirō's chest from across the length of the mirror bubble. "You fought well, Shinigami Captain. And so did Kita, but I'm still going to kill you both."

Tōshirō met the man's eyes and saw neither regret nor sadness, only determined ambition. Selfish. He might have been willing to leave Tōshirō a bit of his pride before killing him, but Shoku was nothing if not self-centered. And selfish people were, when it came down to it, weak people.

What was Shoku's weakness?

"_Raikōhō_," Shoku said quietly.

_Not his weakness_, Hiren whispered. _Your strength. What is your strength?_

Gold light lit in the palm of Shoku's hand, reflected from every side—the beginnings of a cannon-blast spell that would shoot off a huge beam of power that, multiplied by eighteen reflections, would rip Tōshirō's body apart. No way to dodge it. No escape.

Tōshirō's hands clenched around Hyōrinmaru's hilt. _What is my strength?_

What was his strength? That was a stupid question. The answer was obvious.

Tōshirō raised his chin, let the tension flow from his body, and emptied his mind.

"_Bankai_."

Power burst from his body, ice tearing around him in a whirlwind. His reiatsu exploded outward, filling the mirror bubble to capacity, making the very air quiver from the pressure. Wings of ice lifted on either side of him, his tail snaking behind him, his arms and legs heavy with the comforting weight of ice. Hyōrinmaru glowed with Hiren's red power, and both weapons called for victory, cried their need to cut the enemy.

The cannon blast of Kidō fired from Shoku's palm—but only one blast formed in the silence of the sphere.

The glass surfaces, every inch of every panel of mirrors, were coated in a thick layer of glittering, impenetrable ice. No reflections looked back at them, no attacks formed in the mirrors to overwhelm Tōshirō. There was nothing but sparkling white ice.

The Kidō blast raced for Tōshirō. He lifted Hyōrinmaru and sent a cascade of ice down the blade, forming a wedge shape with a rough cutting edge. Hiren's power swept over the ice-altered shape of the blade, and Tōshirō swept his wings downward, launching himself sword-first into the face of the blast.

Hyōrinmaru hit the blast and Hiren cut through it. The wedge-shaped ice blade split the blast in two, cutting a trench down the center through which Tōshirō flew, untouched.

Then the distance between him and Shoku was gone, and Shoku's stunned, horrified eyes met his. Hyōrinmaru flashed down, and Hiren sang their victory.

Landing lightly, Tōshirō took a deep breath, Hyōrinmaru held loose at his side at he looked down at his defeated enemy. Blood stained the ice, splattered across the octagonal floor in wild patterns of crimson on white. With a loud cracking sound, the ice above him shattered, and rain swept over him and the body at his feet. Shoku's mirror bubble was gone. It had died with its creator.

His nerves prickled.

He looked up sharply, his eyes first finding the reddish-black pyramid barrier in which Nakita had sealed herself. It was fine. But the rest of the courtyard had changed while he'd been inside Shoku's bubble. When he'd begun his battle, the courtyard had been empty of life except for him and Nakita.

Now, the courtyard was ringed by demons. Dozens upon dozens of them.

And standing before the wall of slavering demon flesh, watching him, waiting with malevolent little smiles, were three demons that were completely different from the others. Tōshirō met their red eyes, glowing crimson orbs set in near-human faces. He felt the coiling, crushing weight of their reiatsu, the slithering, evil touch of their auras—and knew those three weren't just demons. They weren't even Class 2 demons.

They were demon lords.

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**. x : X : x .**

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**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Thanks so much to everyone who sent me a review last chapter! They were all great, and definitely relieved my worries about malfunctioning alerts. To show my gratitude, I have the next chapter ready and posted exactly on time! Nothing like some great reviews to fuel the muse

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**GLOSSARY:**

**Byakurai **("Pale Lightning") - Hadō #4: a Kidō spell that fires a concentrated, powerful bolt of lightning from the finger. (Shoku's first silent spell.)

**Hainawa **("Crawling Rope") - Bakudō #4: a Kidō spell that creates a long rope of golden energy that entangles the target's arms.

**Enkosen **("Arc Shield") - Bakudō #39: a Kidō spell that summons a gold shield of condensed reiatsu to block opponents' attacks.

**Kagewōtsusu **- Literally, "the mirror image (of)".

**Sōkatsui **("Blue Fire, Crash Down") - Hadō #33: a Kidō spell that fires a burst of concentrated blue energy at the target.

**Shakkahō **("Shot of Red Fire") - Hadō #31: a Kidō spell that fires a ball of red energy at the target.

**Raihōkō **("Thunder Roar Canon") - Hadō #63: a Kidō spell that fires a massive wave of yellow energy at the target.

**Awabako** - Literally, "bubble chamber".


	31. Chapter 31

**Disclaimer: **Bleach does not belong to me, but Nakita, Seiko, Saiu, Shoku, Aranami, Nozomi, Hayate, Suisei, and Chizome do.

* * *

**DEVIL'S SMILE**

* * *

**Chapter 31**

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The three demon lords took a long look at Tōshirō, their eyes travelling over his bankai form before dropping to study the bloodied body sprawled at his feet. Tōshirō stood completely still, his heart pounding, his grip on Hyōrinmaru so tight that his fingers ached.

"Ah," said the middle demon lord in a quiet, tenor voice. "He's killed Ito."

"Shame," replied the left one indifferently. "Our lord prince was pleased to have such a high-ranking pet among the Yokujin."

"Does that make this Shinigami powerful, would you say?" asked the right one.

"Perhaps—or perhaps not," said the middle demon thoughtfully. "Ito was arrogant; it would not be difficult to manipulate him into underestimating his opponent."

"And this Shinigami looks too young to be a threat."

"Ito may have been fooled . . ."

"Or the Shinigami may simply have been lucky," finished the middle demon lord. "Shall we find out?"

The middle demon lifted a hand and gestured. A single demon detached itself from the circling horde and lumbered forward. Tōshirō couldn't be sure, but he figured it was a Class 3. It resembled a boulder, with gravelly-looking skin, thick arms, and short, powerful legs. Close-set red eyes glared from beneath a heavy, inhuman brow. It towered over the demon lords, nearly twice their height.

"Let us see what you make of this one, Shinigami," said the middle lord, the clear leader of the three. He gave his hand a flick, and the rock-demon strode toward Tōshirō.

A dozen strategies flashed through Tōshirō's mind. The demon lords were after Nakita, not him. He was an obstacle to be eliminated. How long would they stand there and watch him fight the rock-demon? How long before they attacked? Was the rock-demon a cheap diversion so they could slaughter him from behind? No, powerful demons like them wouldn't need to distract him to win.

He could drag out his fight with the rock-demon in hopes of delaying the demon lords—or he could end it quickly and find out what those three were _really_ planning.

The rock-demon paused ten paces away—then charged. Tōshirō sprang into the air, holding his ice-wings wide. He aimed Hyōrinmaru's point at the demon's forehead, and dove.

The rock-demon roared, a horrible lancing cry that tore through Tōshirō's ears and nearly made him flinch back. He dropped at the beast. It lifted one thick arm to swat Hyōrinmaru away. Its arm hit the blade—and severed in two as Hiren's power flared. Tōshirō thrust his sword at the demon's broad forehead and sank the full length of the blade into the rock-demon's skull.

Hovering in the air with his wings, he slammed the sword downward, cutting the demon clean through from forehead to navel before pulling Hyōrinmaru free.

The rock-demon crumpled, dead and already disintegrating. Tōshirō landed a little ways away, once again facing the three demon lords.

"Ah," said the middle one again. "So he is strong."

"Indeed," agreed the left one. "He cut through the gargoyle's armoured skin as though it were mere flesh."

"I can sense an incongruous power within him. Is that not the feel of an Akkihasaiki?"

"I concur," said the middle one. "Did you steal a Yokujin's power, Shinigami?"

"It was a gift," Tōshirō answered tersely.

"Truly? How interesting." The three exchanged looks. "Would you like to kill him, Lord Teuchi?"

The demon lord on the right smiled. "It would be my pleasure."

Teuchi stepped forward, flexing his fingers. Tōshirō sucked in a breath as light glinted off impossibly long claws tipping the demon's fingers. The demon lifted a hand, displaying pointed claws that started from his knuckles, ran down the top of each finger, and extended several inches beyond. The demon didn't need a sword with claws like those.

Tōshirō slid his feet wide and braced himself, knowing the first attack would be sudden and fast—and probably deadly. He wasn't for a moment deluding himself into thinking he was a match for any one of these creatures. Even suppressing their power, they were leaking so much reiatsu that the atmosphere in the courtyard was hazy with pressure that dragged at Tōshirō's body.

He lifted Hyōrinmaru a little higher and gritted his teeth. He would at least do some damage to his attacker before he was killed. He could do that much, at least.

"Captain Hitsugaya!"

With an earth-shattering crash, something huge smashed into wall of demons in the southeast corner of the courtyard, bulldozing a path through the beasts. Lifting from the rubble was a huge, fanged snake skull with a bright red mane, followed by a spine-like body. Atop the head, clinging to the red fur, was Abarai Renji and Kuchiki Rukia.

"Captain Hitsugaya!" Abarai called again. His bankai dropped down beside Tōshirō, lowering its head so Abarai and Kuchiki could slide off. Both Shinigami looked more than a little worse for wear, but didn't seem to have any life-threatening injuries.

"What are you doing here, Abarai?" Tōshirō demanded, keeping his eyes on the demon lord Teuchi, who was eyeing Abarai's bankai curiously.

"Didn't you get the message from Captain Kuchiki and the Captain-Commander?" Kuchiki Rukia asked sharply. "The original plan has been scrapped, and everyone's been ordered here to back you up in protecting Captain Matsuo!"

Tōshirō clenched his teeth together, a muscle twitching in his jaw. If everyone joined him in this courtyard . . . they'd all die at the hands of the demon lords. But then again, they would die anyway when that spell activated.

"Who're these three?" Abarai asked jauntily. "They aren't as ugly as all the other demons I've killed so far."

The middle demon lord smiled. "Shall I perform the introductions? I am Moesakaru. This is Teuchi, and here is Dokugumo. Pleasure to meet you all, Shinigami."

"Eh? Pretty polite for soulless monsters." Abarai looked at Tōshirō. "Something special about these three?"

"Stop wise-cracking and start paying attention, Abarai," Tōshirō snapped. "You should be able to tell at a glance that they're demon lords."

Kuchiki inhaled sharply. She, at least, understood the direness of the situation.

"You know, Moesakaru," Teuchi said thoughtfully, eyeing Tōshirō. "I think I'd rather spare the little Captain."

Tōshirō stiffened.

"Oh?" Moesakaru asked.

"I'd rather not kill him." The demon's lips pulled back, revealing pointed canines. He inhaled deeply, head tipped back, eyelids fluttering. "_Ahh_ . . . I can smell his soul from here. So much pure, untouched power. Mmm. Yes, I'd much rather take him alive."

The third demon, Dokugumo, pushed his mass of black and red hair away from his eyes, sniffing the air. "You're right, Teuchi. The girl is almost as sweet, but not nearly as much power. The boy is far more delectable."

Teuchi lifted his upper lip in a snarl, red eyes snapping toward his comrade. "I claimed him first."

"I outrank you."

"He's _mine!_"

"Teuchi, Dokugumo," Moesakaru chided, "focus please. If one of you would like the boy, then whoever gets him first can keep him. Do watch out for that blade of his though. And remember not to wound him too badly if you want him to last."

Tōshirō slid back a step, his heart pounding. Not good, not good.

Teuchi and Dokugumo eyed each other. "We'll decide who gets the boy, then kill the others?" Dokugumo asked politely.

"Agreed," Teuchi said with a nod. They both looked at Tōshirō.

His right ice wing shattered. Gasping, Tōshirō swung Hyōrinmaru, but the demon lord was already flashing away. Tōshirō didn't even know which one had just attacked him.

Someone grabbed his ice tail, yanking him backwards. The tail broke, and he staggered, spinning around. Dark blurs darted back and forth in his vision as the two demon lords circled him—not because they were being cautious about attacking him, but because they were trying to outmanoeuvre one another. Tōshirō could barely follow their movements.

"Captain Hitsugaya!" Abarai yelled, casting his bankai toward the two circling demons.

One of them—Teuchi—broke away for a fraction of a heartbeat, sprang in front of the snake skull, and slashed with his long claws. With a cracking sound, the snake skull seem to shiver and warp, then splintered into pieces. Grabbing the stub of the neck, Teuchi gave it a casual toss back—and sent the whole thing careening back into Abarai and Kuchiki.

"Hyōrinmaru!" Tōshirō cried, shooting an ice dragon at the demon while his attention was on Abarai.

Teuchi turned and swatted the ice dragon, shattering it easily.

Something slammed into Tōshirō back, throwing him forward. Teuchi appeared in front of him and smashed the palm of his hand into Tōshirō's chest with rib-cracking force. As Tōshirō fell backwards, a hand grabbed his wrist. Dokugumo gave him a little smile, yanking him up. Then the demon twisted Tōshirō's wrist, twisted until Tōshirō's bones creaked and threatened to shatter, twisted until his muscles and tendons started to tear.

A cry of pain and fear escaped him as Hyōrinmaru tumbled from his hand.

Dokugumo kicked the sword away as Teuchi smashed his left ice wing, and with that Tōshirō's bankai dispelled. Dokugumo took a firmer grip on his right arm. Teuchi sank his claws right through Tōshirō's left forearm, tearing a gasp from him.

Dokugumo pulled on Tōshirō's right arm. Teuchi pulled on his left.

"I had him first," Dokugumo said coldly.

"Only because I had to deal with the others."

"That's not my problem."

"Hadō #63," Tōshirō whispered, "_Sōren Sōkatsui_!"

Blue lightning erupted from both his hands, hitting the two demon lords at point blank range.

Teuchi yelped when it hit him, jerking Tōshirō's arm so most of the lightning missed him. Dokugumo didn't dodge _or _take a hit. He lifted his free hand and seemed to catch the lightning. For a moment, it looked like it would blast him after all. Then, with a sudden yellowish flicker, the lightning seemed to suck into his hand.

Tōshirō's blood went cold. The demon lord had just _absorbed_ _his Kidō attack!_ How was that possible?

Dokugumo made a small, amused sound. "You didn't think you could stop us with our own brand of magic, did you?" He leaned forward, smiling. "But I do so like how you're still fighting. It's so much more fun that way."

The demon lord looked at Teuchi. "I got him first. Let go."

Teuchi snarled. "When the imps rule Hell, I will!"

Dokugumo considered him for a moment. Then he dropped Tōshirō's arm, flashed past him, and slammed an attack into Teuchi, knocking the other demon lord flying. Tōshirō staggered back as Teuchi's claws tore from his arm, suddenly free. Hyōrinmaru! He needed to get—

Dokugumo grabbed him, pulling Tōshirō off his feet and back against his torso in a one-armed hug like a steel vice. With one of the demon's arms wrapped across Tōshirō's chest and pinning his arms to his side, he couldn't do anything except kick at the demon lord's knees—which wasn't going to free him.

"I win the prize," Dokugumo said calmly as Teuchi picked himself up and stalked back over, face twisted in a sulk.

"Bastard," Teuchi snarled.

"He won," Moesakaru said. "Shall we—oh. Teuchi, it looks like you failed to kill the other two."

Abarai staggered to his feet amidst his shattered bankai, Kuchiki on her knees a few feet behind him.

"Let Captain Hitsugaya go," Abarai panted, clutching the broken handle of his bankai.

"Why would I do that?" Dokugumo asked, sounding amused.

Tōshirō opened his hand and pressed it against the demon's stomach. "Hadō #54," he growled, "_Haien!_"

The purple blast took form in his hand, ready to blow a hole right through the demon—a spell that incinerated whatever it touched, so the demon lord couldn't grab it this time.

"Won't work," Dokugumo murmured.

As the power took form in his hand, Tōshirō felt it disperse and pull away from him—sucked into the demon lord again. He was handing the demon power instead of hurting him. Damn it all!

"That is starting to become irritating," Dokugumo said quietly. "I think it's time you . . . became . . . still."

The demon's aura hit Tōshirō like a burst damn, slamming into him and crushing him beneath a raging waterfall. For barely a moment, he held against it. Then it broke through the shield of his reiatsu and flooded his mind and body.

Tōshirō's body went limp in his captor's grip. He couldn't move. _He couldn't move_.

Numb weight spread through his body like some kind of poison, sucking the strength from his muscles until he could barely keep his lungs working. His head lolled forward, his eyelids drooping, pulse and breathing slowing. A drowsy kind of weakness took him, stealing away his strength with terrifying speed.

He knew from Kurosaki and Nakita that the really powerfully demons had auras with specific, debilitating effects. He knew that his body's numb weakness was all in his head, the special effect of Dokugumo's aura. But he could no more throw off the effect than he could have overcome a physical poison with nothing more than willpower.

Maybe if this had been his first battle today, maybe if he'd still had Hyōrinmaru, maybe he could have fought it . . . or maybe not. Pointless thoughts now.

"Captain Hitsugaya!"

"Captain!"

He could hear Abarai and Kuchiki's panicked calls—but he couldn't see them. Couldn't move his head, couldn't make his eyes focus. Rage burned through him at his helplessness, but it was the impotent fury of failure. He was finished.

Dokugumo loosened his grip, letting Tōshirō slide to the ground. He crumpled lifelessly, slumping over at the demon's feet. Dokugumo kept pumping his aura into Tōshirō until he thought his heart might stop entirely, too numb to push his sluggish blood through his veins.

"What did you do to Captain Histsugaya?" Abarai cried.

"Do not fret," Dokugumo said. "I'm simply keeping him quiet for the time being. I haven't even hurt him. I can't say the same about you, though. Teuchi? Perhaps you should finish them off—before I do. Their continuous noise is starting to annoy me."

"Do it yourself if they're bothering you," Teuchi snapped.

Dokugumo didn't move. Perhaps he felt he needed to guard his defenceless prize.

Putting all his concentration and willpower into it, Tōshirō managed to get his eyes working enough to see Renji and Kuchiki standing tersely a dozen paces away, looking about ready to charge to his rescue. Tōshirō wanted to tell them to run, wanted to ask them to kill him now before the demon took him to Hell. Couldn't do either.

"Brothers," Moesakaru said, "enough bickering. We have a job to do. Teuchi, you can . . ." He paused. "Ah. It would seem we delayed a little too long. More company has arrived."

Tōshirō's eyes slid out of focus, and his breath sighed through numb lips. Despair crept into his heart, stealing the last of his will to fight. It was the demonic aura infecting him, but he couldn't stop it, had nothing left to fight it.

Whoever had come to help was going to die. They were all going to die. The demon lords were just playing with them, weren't remotely serious about the fight. They had a leisurely eleven minutes to break down Nakita's barrier and slaughter her before she could stop the demon spell. They were taking a few minutes to enjoy a little entertainment before the destruction spell wiped out every living thing in Seireitei and ruined all their fun.

A tiny bubble of hope awoke in Tōshirō. If the destruction spell was going to kill everyone, it should kill him too. Then he couldn't be dragged into Hell and made a demon plaything.

Comforted by the thought, unable to fight any longer, he felt the numbness of the demonic aura spread from his body to his mind . . . and then he felt nothing at all.

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**. x : X : x .**

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**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Poor Tōshirō never seems to catch a break in this story. Finally wins a fight and then what happens?

I'd like to give a heads up that the next update will probably be a while (like this one . . . sorry about that.) I'm moving to a new house in under three weeks, so life is pretty chaotic for me right now. I'll try to keep my profile page up to date if you'd like to check on chapter progress in the meantime.

In regard to last chapter, I noticed in some of the reviews that there was, if not dissatisfaction, at least confusion about why Tōshirō didn't use his bankai right off in his fight with Shoku. Initially, Tōshirō was concerned that his shikai would negate Hiren's power, and the same concern applied to his bankai. On top of that, Tōshirō was too focused on using Hiren instead of Hyōrinmaru in this fight. He'd decided, somewhat narrow-mindedly, to win the fight with Hiren, not Hyōrinmaru—especially since Hyōrinmaru had failed to defeat Shoku in their first fight. Tōshirō may or may not have been making a mistake there, as he was doing okay with just Hiren for most of the fight.

Even so, bankai was the obvious response to Shoku's mirror technique . . . which took a nudge from Hiren for Tōshirō to remember. Nakita handed him this amazing power, and he pretty much ditched his usual techniques and tried to fight entirely with Hiren. I don't know if that seems like a realistic error for Tōshirō to make, but he was under a huge amount of pressure fighting not only a superior opponent, but an opponent who handed him his ass in their first fight. Add to that fighting with a brand new, dangerous technique, and well, it seems to me he made a mistake anyone would make. Given something new and shiny and awesome, and we all tend to ignore our old, usual stuff (especially if it fell short last time), at least for a little while.

So, in short, Tōshirō made a mistake that almost cost him the fight. Which I thought was more exciting—except I completely failed to clue in the reader on that little fact. In an attempt to keep the action flowing smoothly, I didn't give enough insight into Tōshirō's thought processes. (Extended strategy meetings with oneself do tend to disrupt the building of tension.) I may go back and try to fix it, but I'd prefer to move on with the story instead of backtracking for edits. Either way, my apologies for a bit of a flop chapter, and hopefully it'll be the last one!

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**GLOSSARY:**

**Teuchi **- Literally, "killing with bare hands".

**Moesakaru **- Literally, "burn brightly".

**Dokugumo **- Literally, "poisonous spider."

**Sōren Sōkatsui **("Twin Lotus Blue Fire, Crash Down") - Hadō #63: a Kidō spell that fires a double bolt of concentrated blue energy at the target.

**Haien** ("Abolishing Flames") - Hadō #54: a Kidō spell that fires a sphere of purple spiritual energy that incinerates the target on contact.


	32. Chapter 32

**Disclaimer: **Bleach does not belong to me, but Nakita, Seiko, Saiu, Shoku, Aranami, Nozomi, Hayate, Suisei, Chizome, Teuchi, Moesakaru, and Dokugumo do.

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**DEVIL'S SMILE**

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**Chapter 32**

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"Hurry!" Rangiku cried as she rushed towards the spelled courtyard. Demonic auras so thick they had turned the air hazy clogged the atmosphere around them. Damn it, if only the message to regroup at the courtyard had come sooner!

"We're coming, we're coming," Ikkaku grumbled, flash-stepping along behind her, followed closely by Yumichika.

"Almost there," Hisagi panted, keeping pace beside her. "Has anyone else arrived yet?"

Rangiku concentrated. "Yes, Renji—and Rukia." Her stomach lurched. "But Captain Hitsugaya—"

"I felt it too. His reiatsu just dropped really fast. Too fast."

Choking on her heart in her throat, she flash-stepped to the top of one of the buildings surrounding the courtyard, spotted Renji, and sprang. Leaping over the ring of restless, excited demons, she landed next to Renji and Rukia. Hisagi, Ikkaku, and Yumichika followed.

"Renji, are you all right?" she asked. He didn't look all right. His left arm hung limply at his side, the elbow bent all wrong, and blood gushed down the side of his face. Rukia didn't look much better. Then Rangiku noticed that Renji was holding the handle of his bankai—and the rest was scattered around them in broken pieces.

"I'll live," he replied. "About time we got some back up."

"Hey, don't complain," Ikkaku drawled. "It was nice of you to leave some of them for us."

"Where's—" Rangiku began—then her eyes fell on the sword lying a few feet away. _Hyōrinmaru_.

Her head snapped up, eyes darting frantically. That's when she finally spotted the three demons halfway across the courtyard, watching them. And the still, white figure at one of the demon's feet.

"Captain Hitsugaya!" she screamed.

He didn't move. Panic clogged her head for a moment before she realized she could still feel the pulse of his spirit.

"He's not dead," Renji said tersely. "The demon did something to him . . ."

"Captain Hitsugaya!" she cried. "Please get up! Captain Hitsugaya!"

"He's not going to answer you," the demon standing over him said. He reached down, grasped the neck of Hitsugaya's haori, and lifted him off the ground. Hitsugaya hung in the demon's grip, motionless, lifeless.

"He won't wake from this coma until I release him from my aura," the demon said. Smiling, he took a fistful of Hitsugaya's hair with his other hand and pulled Hitsugaya's head up. "See? He _might_ be able to hear you—but I doubt it."

Rangiku's heart clenched. Hitsugaya's face was slack, his eyes half-closed. His glazed stare was blank and empty. Completely empty.

One of the other demons snickered. "The lights are on, but no one's home, eh?"

The demon holding Hitsugaya chuckled. "Indeed." He opened his hand, letting Hitsugaya fall. He hit the ground and lay there, unmoving.

Rangiku trembled, rage and terror filling her until her head spun, until she thought she was going to burst. Renji grabbed her just as she tried to launch herself at the demon.

"No, Rangiku! He'll slaughter you!"

"Let me go!" she shrieked. "I'm going to kill him! _Let go, Renji!_"

Yumichika grabbed her other arm, and the two men hauled her back. She fought for a moment longer, then went limp, unable to take her eyes off Hitsugaya's inert form.

Ikkaku stepped in front of her, his released Zanpakutō clenched in both hands. "I guess there's no sense in worrying about it now. Time to bring out the big guns."

Rangiku finally looked away from Hitsugaya to stare at Ikkaku's back. "You mean you haven't used your bankai yet? Everyone has been fighting—_dying_—to save Seireitei, and you've been holding back to keep your precious little secret? _What's the matter with you?_"

"Shut up, Matsumoto," Ikkaku barked. "I did use it earlier—_I _was the one who helped the Captain finish off his Class 2. He already knows about it."

"Oh. Sorry," she mumbled.

"Ah," said the demon furthest back from the other two. "Another Shinigami with bankai?" He sighed. "I don't think we really have time to play anymore. Teuchi?"

The demon with huge long claws looked over. "What now, Moesakaru?"

"Kill them."

Teuchi's expression morphed instantly from peevishness to vicious delight. "It would be my pleasure." He sank into a crouch.

"Ikkaku!" Rangiku cried.

Ikkaku spun his spear. "_Ban—_"

Rangiku gasped, recoiled. Stared, unable to believe what she was seeing.

Teuchi pulled his claws out of Ikkaku's chest, grinned, and slashed them across Ikkaku's throat. Blood sprayed. Ikkaku swayed, hunched forward, made a horrible gurgling sound. Then he fell, sprawling in the growing puddle of his blood. His spirit pulse flickered . . . wavered . . . pulsed one last time . . . and died.

"Ik—Ikkaku?" Yumichika whispered beside her.

Rangiku stared at Ikkaku, waiting for him to jump up, laughing, exclaiming how it would take more than two measly scratches to finish _him_. Ikkaku couldn't die. He couldn't. He was the closest thing to invincible she'd ever seen. He never gave up fighting, never conceded defeat. Never lost. Never died.

Never, never, never.

"Heh-heh, look, Dokugumo. They're all in shock." Teuchi licked the blood from one of his claws. "One of their little pals bites the dust and they can't believe their eyes. Should I finish them off before the truth sinks in?"

"As amusing as it would be to see what happens when the shock wears off, we don't have all day . . . unfortunately."

Teuchi smirked, flashing his pointed teeth. "True. I'll be merciful then, Shinigami, and kill you quickly." His eyes narrowed maliciously as he looked at Rangiku. "More than I can say for that little Captain," he added in a hiss. "He's going to take a very, _very_ long time to die."

The demon lifted his claws, stepped closer, and grinned. "Bye-bye."

Rangiku jerked back, lifting her sword, knowing it was futile. The demon lunged at her—and someone appeared between them. Teuchi's claws slammed down on Captain Kyoraku's Zanpakuto in a shower of a sparks. The demon sprang back immediately, rejoining his fellows.

"_Yare yare_," Kyōraku murmured with no hint of his usual relaxed good humour. "This doesn't look good, does it?"

"Matsumoto, Hisagi, Abarai!" called another voice. Captain Ukitake flash-stepped into the courtyard, joining them. His eyes flickered over them, dropped to Ikkaku's body, then snapped over to Hitsugaya's prone form.

Following behind him was a Diviner, the young boy Suisei—the only living Diviner she'd seen in the last half-hour. She'd seen the bodies of several though. The demons knew who their greatest threats were.

"Is Hitsugaya alive?" Kyōraku asked. "I can feel his spirit pulse."

"He's alive," Rangiku said. "The demon did something to him to keep him from fighting."

"Hallo, hallo, Shinigami Captains," Moesakaru said from halfway across the clearing. "As entertaining as it would be to play with you, I'm afraid we're on a tight schedule."

"That's a shame," Kyōraku replied. "I had fun with your Class 2 cousin. I imagine a demon lord would be even more interesting."

The demon lord's lips twitched up into a vicious smile. "We are very nearly a different _species_ when compared to a Class 2—as the Yokujin like to categorize us. But I imagine you'll realize that quickly."

Rangiku, finally shaking off her shock, grabbed Kyoraku's arm urgently.

"Bankai!" she gasped. "Use your bankai, quickly! That other one k-killed Ikkaku before he could even finish releasing his—"

"Teuchi," Moesakaru said, a hint of a snap in his voice. "Are you waiting for something in particular? I don't recall ordering you to _cease_ killing them."

Teuchi shot his leader a filthy look. He sank into a crouch, his red eyes on Kyōraku.

"Captain Kyōraku!" she screamed, knowing her warning was already too late.

* * *

**. o : O : o .**

* * *

Shunsui watched the demon lord called Teuchi, and wished futilely that the group of Shinigami behind him weren't there. There would be no holding back in this fight, and the destruction would be widespread. He figured he probably wouldn't survive it, which meant the young Shinigami behind him stood no chance.

He opened his mouth to order Matsumoto and the others to move back, but it was too late.

Teuchi shifted his stance, preparing to charge—and what happened next was almost too much for him to follow.

Teuchi shot at Kyōraku—and a dark blur wielding a black sword dropped from the sky. The figure and Teuchi came together—a scream of fury—a slash of black steel—a spray of blood. Teuchi darted backward, away from his attacker, clutching his bleeding forearm.

Kurosaki Ichigo flicked his sword to get the rain off, positioned halfway between the Shinigami at his back and the demon lords in front of him.

"Ichigo!" Rangiku cried.

Kurosaki glanced at them over his shoulder, and Shunsui's breath caught in his throat when he saw the Hollow mask. Equally disconcerting was the shifting design of black light coiling up the boy's arm, clearly some kind of demon magic.

"Who the hell are you?" Teuchi snarled, rising to his feet. He dropped his hand from his arm, the wound already healed.

"I was going to ask you the same thing," Kurosaki replied, his distorted, echoing voice sending an unexpected shiver down Shunsui's spine. "But I'd rather not waste time talking."

"Me either," snarled the demon. "You'll pay for—"

He felt the familiar warning prickle run like ice down his spine a heartbeat before he saw it: the dark, shadowy demon from the other courtyard, the winged creature that had killed their Class 2 opponent in one strike.

The creature plummeted out the sky like a meteor. Teuchi looked up just as the creature slammed into him, hitting so hard that the stones beneath them shattered to dust. Teuchi let out a shriek of terror that tore through Shunsui's ears like liquid fire.

The other two demon lords howled, enraged, and sprang without hesitation at their new enemy. The creature wheeled to its feet, grabbed Teuchi's face, and threw the struggling demon out of its way—right at Kurosaki.

The winged creature's form rippled as it launched itself at the two demon lords. The black shadows sucked together and condensed, forming a five-foot-long nagamaki in the creature's hand. Its body was now revealed, but it was still a creature of nightmares: black wings and tail, flowing raven hair, curved horns, and glowing red eyes.

The two demon lords called similar rippling back weapons into their hands, and then the three crashed together in an explosion of reiatsu that hit Shunsui like a hurricane-force gale, pushing him back several steps.

If having a demon thrown at him surprised Kurosaki, it didn't show. The masked Shinigami lunged at the disoriented demon lord, his Zanpakuto already slicing downward. Red-rimmed black power blasted outward, taking the demon lord straight in the chest. Teuchi went down, still alive but too injured to move. Kurosaki wasted no time, finishing the demon so it wouldn't rise again. He then turned to watch the other fight, tense and waiting for an opening.

The remaining three demons were moving so fast Shunsui couldn't even tell them apart. He had no idea who was who, but he did get the impression that the two demon lords had changed shape—releasing their forms to utilize more of their power. Their black weapons held no definite shape, but flared and moved like snakes made of lightning, twining and spinning and clashing with ridiculous speed and utter unpredictability.

What sent a shiver of dread through Shunsui was that the combined attacks of the two demon lords hadn't been enough to defeat their opponent in the first few seconds of the fight—which meant their opponent was no ordinary demon lord.

What worried him even more was the unbelievable reiatsu drowning the courtyard. He felt like he was standing at the bottom of a glacial ocean, being slowly but relentlessly crushed by the inescapable pressure. He'd never felt reiatsu like that. He could felt like he was breathing icy sand instead of air. Matsumoto, Hisagi, Yumichika were on their knees, and Abarai, also down on his knees, was holding up Kuchiki Rukia, who appeared to have lost consciousness.

One demon was thrown from the fight, landing hard on his back—not the winged demon, but one so far from human in its released form that Shunsui couldn't tell which demon lord it was.

Kurosaki darted in, but the demon lord was already on its feet again and throwing itself back into the fight. Instead, Kurosaki flashed across the courtyard and grabbed Hitsugaya's limp form by one arm. He flash-stepped again, lowering Hitsugaya to the ground just in front of Matsuo's protective barrier. He darted back towards the demon battle.

Power blasted again, and teal-coloured light burst outward like a small sun—one of the demons was now adding Kidō to the fight.

Another blast, another burst of light—and all three demons separated for the briefest fraction of a moment.

Kurosaki shot into that opening, slashing his sword in one of the demon lords' faces, missing the strike but forcing the demon back. And in that brief moment where one of its two opponents was distracted, the winged demon turned its full attention to the other.

Its wings snapped down, and it seemed to blink out of existence with the speed of its movement. Its black weapon slammed into the demon lord's—and in the moment their weapons connected, the winged demon's nagamaki branched a hundred more blades that arched past the demon lord's defence and tore into its body, ripping it apart.

The winged demon was in motion even as its foe fell. It spun, sprang, and slammed into the last demon lord with its nagamaki. The demon lord blocked, blocked again—and then missed the next block. The nagamaki tore through its torso, cutting it clean in half.

As its body crumpled, the winged demon straightened slowly, black wings half unfurled and its tail undulating behind it. Kurosaki stood a few feet away, watching the winged demon with golden eyes behind his mask.

Shunsui finally noticed how quiet the courtyard had become. The circle of ravenous demons had gone completely still, and all eyes were on the winged demon. Shunsui's breath caught in his throat, and he waited to see just what would happen next.

The winged demon looked over the courtyard, its eyes moving from the Shinigami to Matsuo's barrier to the horde of demons around them before settling on Kurosaki. Shunsui tensed, expecting the attack any moment.

Kurosaki lifted a hand to his face and seemed almost to pull his Hollow mask off his face, letting it vanish into wisps of black reiatsu. Then he walked up to the winged demon and gave it a friendly slap on the shoulder.

"Nice one," he congratulated the demon.

Shunsui froze, utterly astonished.

The demon frowned at the human boy, twitching its wings in an irritated sort of way. "They were more troublesome than I expected," the demon replied in a deep, growling voice.

The demons surrounding them shifted restlessly. Kurosaki glanced around the courtyard. "Say, can you do anything about all these?" he asked, waving a hand at the horde.

The winged demon lifted its left hand, and Shunsui flinched as he felt the demon's aura sweep past him, barely touching him. The demon slowly lowered its hand—and every demon in the courtyard sank down to its knees or even lay down entirely, docile as sheep.

Kurosaki let out a low whistle. "Damn. You're kind of scary, you know that?"

The demon cuffed Kurosaki with its wing, knocking him a few steps back. It lashed its tail impatiently, then pulled its wings tight to its body. Shunsui felt the demon's reiatsu shift, changing slightly. Its body swirled with teal-black reiatsu as the heavy, grating pressure of its immense power began to lighten. Its black weapon disappeared. With a final swirl of black light, its wings and tail retracted, the horns shrinking and the eyes changing to something slightly closer to human: pupil-less red irises and white sclera.

"Better?" the demon asked dryly, its—his—voice now smooth, lilting, and extremely pleasant. The demon himself was the most attractive and human-looking of his kind that Shunsui had ever seen. He definitely didn't like that he found the demon attractive, even platonically, which suggested some kind of external influence on his mind—though he sensed nothing definitive affecting him.

Kurosaki shrugged, grabbed the demon by the elbow, and pulled him toward Shunsui and the others. Shunsui tipped his hat back to meet the demon's stare as they came to a stop in front of him. He could feel Jūshiro's tension beside him, and the Vice-Captains behind him remained silent and wary.

"Saiu, meet Kyōraku and Ukitake, Captains of the Shinigami. That's Rangiku and Hisagi and Yumichika, and Renji and Rukia behind them. And—" Kurosaki looked at Ikkaku's body for a moment, his face tightening. He took a deep breath. "Everyone, this is Saiu, the youngest prince of the demons. He's the one who brought me back from Hell before, and he's here to stop his brother's plan to destroy Soul Society."

The demon prince regarded each Shinigami as they were introduced, then shot Kurosaki a cold look.

"I am here to prevent my eldest brother's assassination, not to save Soul Society."

Kurosaki snorted. "Same difference."

Saiu reached up and grabbed a fistful of Kurosaki's hair, pulling his head painfully to the side. "You are testing my patience, Ichigo," the demon prince hissed.

Kurosaki smacked the demon's hand away. "Saving the world, remember?"

Shunsui looked between the two, then exchanged a startled look with Jushiro. Not just a demon, but a demon _prince_ had allied himself with the Shinigami?

"Kurosaki," Hisagi said in a quiet voice, "just what makes you think we can trust this demon?"

Kurosaki's eyebrows shot up. "Did you miss him killing those demon lords just now?"

"I am not asking for trust of any sort," Saiu said dismissively. "You may attack me if you wish. You won't have time to regret it."

Kurosaki sighed. "Can we skip the threats, Saiu? I think you've freaked them out enough already with your demon bat from Hell thing."

"I am not a bat."

"Sure looked like one to me."

"My true form is a draconian. As in _dragon_."

"If you say so."

"I swear I _will_ kill you before the day is out."

Shunsui's nerves prickled again. Kurosaki didn't seem fazed by the demon's threats, but Shunsui wasn't so sure such a cavalier attitude was safe.

He looked around again. In the aftermath of the battle between the three demon lords and their prince, it took a moment for the change in their situation to sink in.

If the demon prince could control the demon horde in the courtyard with such ease, and if he were truly their ally, then he could save them from having to battle a single more demon. But Shunsui was also aware that the demon prince could turn on them at any moment. Just because a sibling rivalry made it somehow advantageous for Saiu to ally himself with them didn't mean he would stay an ally.

And even if demon attack wasn't an immediate threat, there was still the destruction spell. Would Captain Matsuo be able to neutralize the spell in time? There was no way to tell what was going on inside that barrier.

"Prince Saiu," he said, drawing the demon's red-eyed stare. "May we assume that Soul Society is now safe from demon attack? Have you neutralized the threat entirely?"

The demon turned his cold, penetrating stare on Shunsui for a long moment, then glanced at Ichigo. Finally, he looked at Matsuo's barrier.

"The demons currently in the city are all under my power," he said slowly, "and will remain so for as long as I am the most powerful demon here."

Kurosaki tensed. "I think I hear a 'but' in there."

Saiu turned to face the eastern part of Seireitei. For a moment he was very still. When he finally spoke, his voice was little more than a terse whisper.

"I will not be the most powerful demon here for much longer. Aranami is coming."

* * *

**. x : X : x .**

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

A huge long wait for this chapter, for which I apologize. I'm of the opinion that it's not a very good chapter, but I figured any longer of a wait and no one would want to read the story anymore. I also didn't proofread it very well, so I hope there weren't too many strange typos. My life is crazy and difficult right now, but I hope next chapter will not fight so hard to _not_ be written and will subsequently be better (and come sooner). Thanks for your patience.

(Some cheer-inspiring reviews would be much appreciated.)


	33. Chapter 33

**Disclaimer: **Bleach does not belong to me, but Nakita, Seiko, Saiu, Shoku, Aranami, Nozomi, Hayate, Suisei, Chizome, Teuchi, Moesakaru, and Dokugumo do.

* * *

**DEVIL'S SMILE**

* * *

**Chapter 33**

* * *

For a moment, despair almost took him.

Saiu moved several paces away from the confused, frightened Shinigami and let his eyes slide close, reaching out with his senses to the world tear where he'd crossed from Hell to Soul Society such a short time before. He could feel even from this distant courtyard the waves of dark power leaking from the portal. Like Saiu, Aranami's power was so great that forcing his way through the tear was a slow, difficult process—but not slow enough.

Determination burned through him, and he snapped his eyes open. He wasn't giving up yet.

He slashed a look at Ichigo, who was already watching him, waiting for instructions.

"Get them out of the way," he said. "Have all the Shinigami move away from the Diviner's barrier. Quickly!"

Ichigo nodded and turned towards the Shinigami, passing on Saiu's orders. Saiu closed his eyes again, this time using his senses to trace the shape of the barrier he would create around Nakita's—a barrier that would only slow Aranami down, but it was far better than the Diviner's. Aranami could break the pyramid barrier with a single blow.

He blinked, his concentration breaking up as he heard the wave of protests from the Shinigami behind him, all of them demanding answers, refusing to move, insisting on fighting the coming threat—all of them wasting precious seconds. Saiu's lips curled in a silent snarl.

He spun around so sharply that everyone jumped, stepping back from him. Power swept through his body from his center, and Saiu lifted a hand in an almost lazy gesture. His eyes glowed solid red.

His aura swirled outward, pouring over the Shinigami before they could react. Teal light flickered through the air like sparkling dust motes. The weaker Shinigami lost their wills immediately to his aura, going glassy-eyed and limp. The two powerful Captains resisted only moments longer before they succumbed, and calm silence fell over the courtyard. Finally.

Ichigo, dazed and befuddled but not quite overcome, gave his head a little shake and frowned at the demon prince. "What are you doing?" he mumbled, squinting through the mental haze.

Another touch of his aura and Ichigo would be utterly in Saiu's power, willing to do anything Saiu might suggest. Anything at all. As much as that thought pleased him, now wasn't really the time. Indulging in the intoxication of his own power wouldn't be very productive. Instead, he looked over the bespelled Shinigami.

"All of you, move to the outer edges of the courtyard. Take the unconscious ones with you."

As one, they obeyed, the weaker ones whose personalities were entirely buried under his power looking delighted to fulfil his wishes. The two older Captains moved stiffly, fighting his aura even as they couldn't stop themselves from doing as commanded. Saiu decided that seeing those two humbled and helpless against him was also pleasing. But again, he digressed.

"Ichigo, wake up that one—Hitsugaya." Saiu didn't wait to see Ichigo move towards the already stirring young Captain. Instead, he returned his attention to the barrier he would create as soon as the Shinigami were clear. It would not be a good idea to have them in the barrier with him.

There was a reason Saiu and Aranami had never fought one another in battle before. They were both so powerful that a clash between them could potentially destroy an entire world. A barrier was the only option Saiu could think of that would keep them from a direct collision of their power—a collision that would level the city, at the very least.

In moments, the area in the center of the courtyard was clear of Shinigami except for Ichigo and the young Captain, who was likewise not entirely under Saiu's power. But then, Saiu hadn't been aiming for either of them. Ichigo rushed to grab Hitsugaya's Zanpakutō and bring it to the boy. Together they hobbled away from Nakita's barrier. Saiu drew in a slow, steadying breath, already building up the power he would use for the barrier. As soon as those two were out of the way.

Power slammed into Saiu, stealing his breath away. Ichigo staggered and Hitsugaya dropped to his knees. Terror spiralled through the city like a dark cloud, and the weight of an enraged reiatsu dropped over them, scraping Saiu's nerves like thousand needles.

Aranami had broken through into Soul Society. He was here.

No more time. Saiu lifted his arms into the air—and unleashed his power. His true form swept over him in a wave of black and teal light. A perfect circle, just large enough to contain him and Nakita's pyramidal barrier, lit on the ground as he shaped his spell. Glowing red eyes fierce with his concentration, Saiu poured his reiatsu into the formation of his barrier.

It ballooned into shape, a perfect sphere with half of it invisible under the ground. Agonizing pain clawed at his chest as he cast too much power too fast into the spell. The glowing dome brightened, thickened, gleamed like semi-transparent, teal-tinted steel.

A wave of exhaustion rippled through him as he completed the barrier. He swayed for a brief moment before steadying. He sucked in a deep breath. His weariness was more mental than physical, though the toll of draining a quarter of his reiatsu in such a short span of time was nothing to shrug off. The barrier was as strong as he could make it, and he could continue to add power to it as needed—though with little more than half his total power left to him, he couldn't be reckless with what he had left. Maybe, just maybe, the barrier would last long enough.

A movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he glanced briefly over his shoulder.

Ichigo and Hitsugaya stood side by side in front of Nakita's pyramid—_inside_ his barrier.

He snarled. "I told you to get out."

Ichigo, the effects of Saiu's aura almost completely cleared from his eyes, scowled back. "That's what we were trying to do. But if you were going to make a super strong barrier, don't you think you could have included the others in it?" He shot a look at the Shinigami outside the dome, fear in his eyes.

"Aranami will be focused on me," Saiu snapped. "If he breaks focus to attack them, I will be able to attack him. You two are in far more danger."

Ichigo blinked. "How come?"

Saiu turned back to face the rest of the courtyard. "Because you have no choice now but to endure the full force of my reiatsu unleashed in this small space. I cannot hold back to spare you."

Hitsugaya's eyes widened, and Ichigo paled slightly. He was quiet for a moment. "This is where I want to be anyway."

"Me, as well," Hitsugaya added softly, his gaze darting to Nakita's barrier.

"Brace yourselves then," Saiu murmured. "Aranami is . . . here."

It flashed into being, a black mass of writhing power, that slammed into Saiu's barrier with the force of an avalanche. The sound of the impact was horrendous, a shrieking boom that made Ichigo and Hitsugaya stagger backwards.

Saiu stood unflinching, his wings spread wide, his eyes glowing. He poured another wave of power into the barrier, holding it firm against the blow.

The black ball of power shifted back a few feet, then the blackness faded, revealing the demon underneath. Aranami had released his form. Huge curling horns like a ram, gleaming black obsidian, covered the sides of his head, framing his dark-furred bull's head. His red eyes glowed, his wide nostrils flaring with rage as he faced his younger brother. Massive shoulders supported his thickly muscled arms and enormous, clawed hands. His stocky legs ended in huge cloven hooves that could crush a horse's skull with ease.

"Hello, brother," Saiu said pleasantly from within his barrier.

Aranami's bovine lips pulled up to reveal a full set of wolf-like fangs. "Brother," he rumbled in a voice so deep it was more vibration than sound. "I see you have freed yourself from my binding spell. I am surprised you managed it."

Saiu shrugged casually. "It was something of a challenge, I admit."

His brother's expression turned wicked. "Nothing to what is to come, I assure you."

Saiu could feel Aranami's power building, building, building, and knew the next blow to his barrier would be beyond terrible in its destructive force. The Shinigami outside the barrier were in rough shape under the pressure of Aranami's reiatsu, but luckily the elder demon prince was too focused on his brother to unleash the devastating effects of his madness-spawning aura.

As Aranami lifted both massive fists to bring them slamming down into the barrier with the force of all his power behind them, Saiu stepped up to the barrier directly across from Aranami and lay both palms on the glowing shield. He drew on his own power, filling his body with it until he thought he would burst, ready to pump it into the barrier and hold it against Aranami's attack.

Brother against brother. Prince against prince.

Aranami bellowed a war cry as he brought his fists down on the barrier.

Saiu let out his own cry, one of resolution and desperation and determination.

Power met power in a catastrophic impact of opposing forces. The earth buckled. The skies tore open, flashing black and red. The stones in the courtyard shattered to dust. Fissures split the ground open across the city. Lightning blasted outward from the point of contact, sizzling the air.

Only because Saiu was defending instead of attacking did their power not tear this world apart. But because of that, if Saiu faltered for even a moment, Aranami would smash through his barrier and tear him apart. If Aranami faltered, he would suffer no ill effects except to have a brief breather before he tried again. He could keep attacking and attacking until Saiu gave out. It was inevitable.

Saiu was going to lose.

He gritted his teeth, jaw clenched so tightly he felt a tooth crack. He threw more power into barrier, but he felt like he was trying to hold back all the oceans of the world. His limbs trembled and his skull was going to split from the pressures. He couldn't hold it, _he couldn't hold it!_

Wings flaring, he screamed his rage and denial, his cry lost in the thunderous rebellion of the earth against the demonic power tearing through it.

And then it stopped.

Aranami stepped back from the barrier, breathing hard. His fists smoked, and he carefully flexed his fingers, looking coldly amused.

Saiu sagged, his knees almost buckling. He forced himself straight, panting and trembling slightly. He dared to cast a glance back at Ichigo and Hitsugaya, and was surprised to see them both conscious and sane after the power he'd unleashed inside the barrier. Perhaps he should have given them more credit.

Another tremor shivered through him. Aranami would attack again any moment, and Saiu would die. He couldn't hold the barrier against another attack like that. Aranami was too strong.

So close. He was so close. How long before Nakita finished her counterspell? Minutes? Less than that?

How could he delay Aranami for just another few minutes?

A thought flitted through his mind, a shadow of a plan, risky, stupid, utterly reckless. All the things he'd called Ichigo for breaking the binding spell in his leg. His eyes narrowed. Reckless—and deadly. No other choice now. Would it work?

He drew in a deep breath and let it slowly slide through his lungs. Tension seeped from his body, calm taking its place as he closed his eyes—and opened the floodgates in the depths of his demonic soul and let his power flow free.

Aranami stepped back from the barrier, his eyes going wide with surprise as teal light lit Saiu, engulfing his body. The light swirled around him, then flowed into the barrier beneath his hands and the earth beneath his feet. The ground glowed with the same teal glow, swallowing the dirt and rubble, sweeping over the Shinigami trapped with him, and sinking through Nakita's pyramid barrier.

"Saiu," Aranami growled, "what do you think you're doing?" Red fury lit his eyes. "_What the fuck are you doing?_"

Saiu's power flowed from Nakita's barrier into the destruction spell, absorbing into the fabric of that magic. Saiu's eyes slid slowly open, his expression tranquil, serene with victory.

"You lose," he whispered.

All the teal light of his magic, sunk into every particle within his barrier, flashed to bright green—and his teleportation Kidō took effect. Aranami screamed in rage, understanding coming too late. The world around Saiu rippled, flexed, folded in on itself as time and space shifted.

There were no words for the agony that took him as the spell ripped the last of his power from his body.

The Shinigami city vanished, and then they were standing in a wide green field with mountains at their back and forest stretching as far as the eye could see before them. His barrier collapsed into nothing as the teleportation spell completed, but Nakita's pyramid barrier held, she and her counterspell perfectly transported without disturbing either. Aranami's destruction spell had teleported without damage as well, its ties to the souls in Seireitei simply stretching to accommodate the further distance. Teleporting people was relatively simple; teleporting embedded magic without damaging it had almost killed him.

Contentment filled the emptiness inside him, and a weak smile curved his lips. His wings and tail dissolved into fading sparkles as he lost his released form, having no power to maintain it. No power, no reiatsu. Nothing at all. He'd drained himself to his limit and beyond.

His smile was bemused, bitter. He'd saved the world after all. Who would have thought?

Darkness crept across his vision, and he wasn't sure anymore if he was standing or not. As his heartbeat faltered and he waited for the darkness to take him, he stretched his senses toward the distant Shinigami city—and felt a distant flicker of power, the faintest touch of icy, burning rage.

His bubble of contentment burst in a wave of anguished desolation. No. _No._

He hadn't been able to move them far enough. Not quite far enough. If he could sense Aranami, then Aranami would be able to sense him—and follow. It wouldn't take Aranami more than five minutes to traverse the intervening distance with the speed he could travel.

Were five minutes enough?

His eyes closed without his permission. He had nothing left. He'd given everything he had, and the rest was out of his hands now. Now, it was in the hands of the humans.

Now, it was up to Ichigo, Hitsugaya, and Nakita.

Drowning in the cold bitterness of his failure, a tiny spark of light warmed him as he slid unresisting into unconsciousness. Maybe . . . maybe there was still reason to hope. Maybe all wasn't lost . . . quite . . . yet.

Maybe.

* * *

**. x : X : x .**

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Finally, right? Writer's block is cruel thing. I'll try to update _much_ sooner next time.


	34. Chapter 34

**Disclaimer: **Bleach does not belong to me, but Nakita, Seiko, Saiu, Shoku, Aranami, Nozomi, Hayate, Suisei, Chizome, Teuchi, Moesakaru, and Dokugumo do.

* * *

**DEVIL'S SMILE**

* * *

**Chapter 34**

* * *

Ichigo pressed a fist to his chest and tried to convince his lungs to expand. His whole body ached and shook, physically traumatized by the crushing weight of Saiu's power smashing through him. Mentally, he wasn't doing much better. He felt like he'd just walked through the burning heart of a volcano and survived—barely.

Ignoring the trembling spasms that quivered his arms and legs, he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees and looked around. His jaw dropped. Where were they? Seireitei was nowhere in sight. Instead, they'd been dropped in the middle of a low valley at the edge of a mountain range. It still felt like Soul Society, but they must have moved miles. Had Saiu teleported them?

He craned his neck and was just as shocked to see that Nakita's barrier had come with them. That must have been tricky to do. He twisted the other way, his mouth opening to ask Saiu what the plan was now.

His gaze fell on the demon prince, and sudden fear made him go cold. Saiu stood with his back to Ichigo, his shoulders hunched and head dropped forward, his dark wings dragging on the ground and his long, whip-like tail limp behind him. Even as Ichigo looked over, Saiu's wings and tail shimmered, seeming to lose their solidity for the briefest moment—and they shattered into dust.

Ichigo's heart clenched. Before, Saiu had reversed his transformation by drawing his wings and tail back into his body. That they'd just broken apart like that was definitely a bad sign.

Ichigo scrambled to his feet and rushed toward the demon prince—just as he began to fall.

"Shit!" Ichigo gasped, lunging forward and catching Saiu's shoulders. The demon collapsed into him, and the unexpected dead weight made Ichigo stumble back. He clutched Saiu's limp body and desperately gave the demon a sharp shake.

"Saiu? Saiu, can you hear me?"

No response. He sank down his knees, lowering Saiu to the ground. The demon's head lolled lifelessly, his skin as pale as death and far too cool to the touch.

Ichigo looked up as Tōshirō knelt beside him, the young Captain's face drawn and almost as pale as Saiu's. He pulled up one of Saiu's eyelids; the demon's eyes were rolled back in his head, leaving only the whites visible.

"He's barely breathing," Tōshirō said quietly. His pressed his fingers to Saiu's wrist for a moment. "His pulse is weak."

"I can't feel his reiatsu at all," Ichigo mumbled, his own heart pounding. Not only did he not want to see Saiu die, but he needed Saiu to tell them what to do next. He could sense a distant power moving closer, the terrifying reiatsu of Aranami. Saiu had bought them some time—but what were they supposed to do when Aranami caught up to them?

"I can sense his spirit pulse just faintly," Tōshirō said. "If he were a normal soul, I would say he'd recover with rest, but . . . he seems to be weakening more even now. Because he's so powerful normally, maybe his body can't cope with this level of reiryoku depletion?" He shook his head.

Ichigo swore harshly. "What should we do?"

Tōshirō shook his head again. "The other demon prince is coming, and if he gets here before Nakita finishes her counterspell, I don't know how we can stop him. Saiu would have more of an idea of his brother's weaknesses, maybe some idea of a strategy. We need to wake him up."

"How?" Ichigo demanded. "He's dying already. If we wake him up, he'll probably just die faster from using up the very last of his strength."

"I could try a healing Kidō," Tōshirō said dubiously, his eyes clouded with frustration.

"That doesn't replenish reiatsu, does it? He needs reiatsu. How—" Ichigo's eyes went wide, his mouth sagging open as a memory flashed through his mind.

Chizome's face right in front of his as the demon pinned him to a wall. The demon lord's lustful grin as he explained to Ichigo how high-level demons could pull the reiatsu from others to replenish their supplies. They could steal power from another's body by force.

Ichigo snapped his mouth shut, jaw clenching. If only Saiu was conscious! Ichigo would be happy to donate some reiatsu to Saiu, the agonizing pain of it be damned. Saiu could have taken Ichigo's reiatsu if he were awake, but since he wasn't, Ichigo had to _give_ it to Saiu instead. How? He squeezed his eyes shut, thinking hard. How? _How?_

Another memory, and he sucked in a sharp breath. Waking up with Saiu leaning over him after Chizome had almost killed him. Waking up to Saiu _giving_ power to him. If he'd been unconscious and able to absorb power from Saiu, then it should work in reverse, right? How had Saiu done it?

His eyes flashed open. _Saiu licking blood from one of his claws_. Blood. That was it! Saiu had been touching Ichigo's face—the cuts on his face. Saiu had had blood on his fingers.

He jerked his gaze to Tōshirō. "Have you ever heard of sharing reiatsu through blood?"

Tōshirō's eyes widened and he shook his head. "Blood would form a connection between bodies, but there must be more to it than that."

Ichigo picked up Tensa Zangetsu from where he'd dropped it before catching Saiu. "Whatever else there is to it, I'm just going to have to wing it. We need to wake him up _now_."

He held the hilt in one hand and wrapped his fist around with blade. Gritting his teeth, he jerked the sword, laying open his palm to the bone. Blood welled and ran. What now? Should he cut Saiu and mix their blood? Damn it, he had no idea what he was doing!

He looked at Saiu's unconscious face, and suddenly he knew. His lips twitched in a humourless smile. Of course he knew. Again, Chizome had given him the answer. _Did he taste you, Ichigo?_

Setting Zangetsu down, Ichigo steadied Saiu's jaw with his uninjured hand, then carefully moved his bleeding hand to hover above Saiu's mouth. Blood dripped off his hand onto the demon's lips.

Saiu's eyelids fluttered.

Steeling himself, Ichigo pressed the edge of his hand, where the cut went deep into the fleshy side of his palm, against Saiu's mouth. Ichigo held his breath. For a moment, nothing happened. Saiu's eyelids flickered again, but his eyes were still rolled back in deep unconsciousness.

Then like a striking snake, Saiu bit down on Ichigo's hand. He yelped when the demon's knife-sharp fangs sank into his flesh. His yelp turned to a gasp when he felt his stomach drop—that feeling of suction in his middle right before the pain of having his power ripped from his body would strike.

His stomach swooped, and adrenaline whipped through his veins. His head spun as heat pulsed through his body, and he bit the insides of his cheeks to keep silent. Whatever the hell was happening, it wasn't painful. More like the opposite.

Saiu opened his eyes, his gaze unfocused and vacant. He wasn't conscious yet, but already Ichigo could feel the demon's strength increasing—a bare fraction of his usual power, but better than he'd been before. He kept his teeth buried in his Ichigo's flesh, clamped on his hand like a steel trap. Saiu wasn't swallowing, wasn't drinking Ichigo's blood—he was just holding on, somehow forging that connection that not only allowed the transfer of power, but did it in such a way as not to hurt Ichigo.

It was about a minute—a minute of pulsing heat and adrenaline that tread the borderline of sensual pleasure—before Saiu's eyes finally focused and he released his death grip on Ichigo's hand. Pulling his hand away, Ichigo peered worriedly into Saiu's face.

The demon prince licked the blood from his lips as his eyes move from Ichigo to Tōshirō and back again. He sighed. "_Must_ you persist in being so meddlesome?" he asked weakly.

Ichigo blinked. "What?"

"I was quite content not to wake up."

"Aranami is on his way here," Tōshirō said sharply before Ichigo could retort. "If Nakita doesn't finish in time, we have to stop him from killing her."

"And we sort of need your help with the stopping him part," Ichigo added dryly.

Saiu sighed again and closed his eyes. "Do I look like I can help? I can't even sit up under my own power."

Ichigo stomach tightened with fear. Even with a reiatsu donation, Saiu was far weaker than Ichigo had thought.

"So what are we supposed to do?" he demanded.

"I was hoping you would tell me," Saiu muttered. He opened his eyes again. "You need two things to successfully fight Aranami: speed and reiatsu. You don't have enough of either. At the height of my power, I only have enough of the former. Even I cannot muster enough reiatsu to do any significant damage to my older brother."

Ichigo pressed his lips together. He remembered all too clearly his first fight with Zaraki Kenpachi. At the time, he'd barely been able to cut Kenpachi because of the difference in their levels of reiatsu. If Aranami could harden his body in the same way . . .

"Damaging Aranami won't be a problem," Tōshirō said. "Our only issue is speed."

"You do not possess anywhere near enough reiatsu to _scratch_ my brother," Saiu said scathingly.

Tōshirō smiled tightly. "I don't need reiatsu to cut him." He lifted Hyōrinmaru—and suddenly red light lit the length of the blade in strange symbols. "Nakita gave me a gift before she started her counterspell. With this power, I can cut _anything_."

Saiu's eyes widened. "Are you certain?"

"Beyond a doubt."

Ichigo exhaled loudly. "Okay. So we can cut him. But how are we going to hit him with an attack before he decapitates us?"

"Speed," Saiu sighed. "Of which neither of you have enough."

"Would you stop being such a pessimist?" Ichigo said irritably. "We don't exactly have a lot of time to come up with a plan here." Like, about two minutes.

"My apologies that I'm having difficulty mustering up the proper attitude. I was almost dead a minute ago, if you recall."

"You're the only one of us fast enough to fight Aranami. What if you took the rest of my reiatsu? Would that be enough for you to be able to fight?"

Saiu rocked his head back and forth. "I can draw a demon's power and convert it almost instantaneously, but a human's reiatsu takes much longer. Not enough time."

"Damn it all!" Ichigo snarled. "How can we get you in fighting condition in the next minute and a half? There must be some way!"

"There isn't—" Saiu broke off, his eyes going round with shock. "Maybe there is," he breathed. Digging his elbows into the dirt, he shoved himself up into a sitting position, excitement bringing a little life back into his face. "My speed, your reiatsu. We must combine them—literally."

"Huh?" Ichigo didn't like the sound of that.

"Demons are capable of several different levels of possessions," Saiu said, speaking so fast Ichigo had to concentrate to follow his words. "I've already possessed you mind-to-mind, do you remember?"

"Yeah." Not a happy memory, but—"How does that help?"

"A _soul_ link, a spirit-to-spirit possession manifests physically." Saiu's eyes lit with an almost feverish hope. "I would have access to your reiatsu and you would have access to my speed. We would, in essence, become one."

Ichigo's eyes widened, and terror spun sickeningly in his stomach. He swallowed. "Is it . . . reversible?"

"Yes. It's dangerous and might do us both permanent damage, but—we have no time to waste. We will be dead anyway if we do not succeed."

Saiu started to struggle to rise. Ichigo grabbed his elbow and pulled him up. The demon swayed, holding tight to Ichigo's shoulder. Tōshirō backed a step away, his eyes wide and worried.

"Summon your Hollow mask, Ichigo," Saiu said quietly. "If I can tie the possession to your Hollow powers, it might limit the damage to your soul."

He nodded. There was no time for hesitation. He stuck Zangetsu's point into the ground so the sword could stand on its own. Still gripping Saiu's elbow with one hand, he lifted the other to his face, fingers spread wide, heart pounding.

Saiu's fingers tightened on his shoulder, his claws pricking uncomfortably. The demon lifted his other hand and lay his fingers over Ichigo's. Their eyes met, and Ichigo saw his own fear reflected in Saiu's red eyes. They both knew full well this might destroy them—but beyond the fear was iron resolve, for both of them.

Failure was not an option.

"Now," Saiu whispered.

Ichigo touched the Hollow essence within himself and pulled the power from its prison deep in his soul. The rough, savage power flooded through him, flowing over his face as his mask took shape. And then he felt Saiu's power touch the mask as it formed.

Ice tore into his body. Black power slammed through him, burning across his every nerve. His Hollow mask clamped onto his face like a steel vice, heavy and glacially cold in a way he'd never felt before. Ice-fire raged through his body, concentrating in a line of agony down his spine. Spears of ice stabbed his shoulders. Terrible, consuming darkness washed through him, filling his body, snuffing out the light of his soul.

A scream of terror and agony escaped him. He was dying. Worse than dying. Panic grabbed him, and he fought to push the darkness away. His Hollow powers and Saiu's dark soul pulsed inside him, engulfing, consuming, suffocating. The physical agony was nothing compared to fire in his soul as it drowned in darkness.

_Don't be afraid._

The voice whispered from within him, familiar yet alien. Emotions flowed along with the words, cool resolution and calm steadiness. Beneath those was the shrewd intelligence and strange brand of personal integrity that had earned Ichigo's respect so quickly. Saiu's voice, speaking from inside him.

_Take control of your Hollow power_, Saiu told him, a silent voice from within.

Choking on the darkness, Ichigo struggled to grasp his out of control Hollow powers. Laboriously, he dragged the power back into his grasp, quieting it with strict control. As he did, the icy river of Saiu's demonic soul steadied—still burning, still agonizing, but no longer smothering him.

As the maelstrom within him stilled, Ichigo felt Saiu more clearly, a foreign presence that hadn't quite fused with him. He realized with a slash of horror that this wasn't enough. They were both in his body, but too separate to share their powers.

_The link is not yet complete_, Saiu confirmed softly. _You must open yourself to me._

Ichigo's horror grew. He had to open his soul to Saiu's. He had to embrace the demon within him, to accept that cold, black darkness into his mind and soul. He had to merge the very essence of his being with Saiu.

If he did that, the soul known as Ichigo would no longer exist. He would become someone—_something—_else entirely.

_So will I_, Saiu whispered.

Acceptance settled over him. Sacrifice was necessary to win battles. He and Saiu both would make the ultimate sacrifice to save all the worlds. They would sacrifice not their lives, but their souls.

Victory always came with a price.

No reason to resist. No reason to hesitate. The only way. With only the briefest of fleeting regrets, Ichigo opened his heart and soul to the demon within and let darkness swallow him.

* * *

**. o : O : o .**

* * *

Tōshirō sprang backwards as power blasted outward from Kurosaki and Saiu. One moment, they were standing close together, facing one another. Black light crawled across Kurosaki's face, the beginnings of his Hollow mask—and then they both seemed to explode in a maelstrom of light, darkness, and power.

With one arm raised to shield his face, Tōshirō squinted at the whirling, spiralling column of black light mixed with streaks of teal, blue, and red. Heavy, rough reiatsu dragged at the air, and the air howled with the force of power. His sense of Kurosaki's and Saiu's individual spirit pulses blurred.

Suddenly, it all went still, the spinning black power freezing in place, appearing almost solid. Kurosaki and Saiu were obscured within it, their spirits flickering, beating like two hearts.

Two beats. Two beats. And then—a single pulse. Another. One heartbeat. One spirit pulse. Only one.

The black power burst apart like shattering glass, revealing the being within. Tōshirō stared, unable to speak. A shiver ran through him, and he took a slow step backward. His breath came too fast, and fear crawled through him. Kurosaki and Saiu were both gone. In their place was something that was neither—but somehow both.

Black, bat-like wings sprouted from the creature's back, graceful and powerful even half-furled. A line of black ran down his spine and became a long, whip-like tail at the small of his back. The tail lashed slowly back and forth, its end tipped with a wicked, deadly spear-tip barb. His fingers ended in long black claws, strikingly dark against the pale skin of his arms and back; his shirt had torn away during the transformation. His feet were clawed as well, looking more like bird talons than anything human. The hair was Ichigo's bright orange strands, but sweeping down his back in long wispy strands that clung to his shoulders.

With another swirling motion of his tail, the creature turned toward Tōshirō—and his blood turned to ice.

The Hollow mask that covered the creature's face was black obsidian, marked down each side of the face with twin red stripes. The top edge of the mask rose into curving black horns, and the mask's teeth had grown to vicious points. The eyes of the mask glowed demonic red.

Tōshirō took another slow, wary step backwards. "Kuro . . . saki?" he whispered.

The creature that was human, demon, and Hollow combined seemed to appraise Tōshirō for a long moment. Long enough for him to wonder if what had once been Kurosaki even recognized him.

"Get ready, Tōshirō," he answered finally. His voice made Tōshirō shudder; it was a horrifying layering of a demon's high, pain-inducing voice and a Hollow's deep, echoing pitch. There was nothing human in it that Tōshirō could hear.

"Kurosaki?" he repeated slowly. "Are you . . . okay?"

The creature's head tipped to one side. "That name is no longer entirely accurate, but—yes. I am—_we_ are—well enough . . . for now."

Since the merged being offered no other name, Tōshirō decided to go with Kurosaki as a method of address anyway. He looked Kurosaki over again and shuddered.

"For now?" he asked.

Kurosaki's tail lashed to his other side like a whip, and his wings twitched restlessly. "The longer I maintain this form, the more damage I—we—will suffer." His wings snapped open and closed. "I'm already losing—our—senses of individuality. And Ichigo's soul cannot stay in contact with Saiu's for much longer before it's destroyed."

Hearing the creature refer to both parts of its makeup in third person made Tōshirō flinch. Was he talking not to Kurosaki or Saiu, but to Kurosaki's Hollow?

"Who are you?" he asked faintly.

The black mask turned toward him. "I am Ichigo. I am Saiu. I am both and I am neither." A small sound—amusement? "We don't really have time to discuss it, wouldn't you say?"

Some of the tension left Tōshirō—that last bit was so _Kurosaki_ that he knew all wasn't lost. Yet. But he had to acknowledge that the person in front of him was no one he knew.

"Do you have a name?" he asked. Encouraging the Kurosaki-Saiu combination to think like a single entity was probably a bad idea, but Tōshirō couldn't think of the creature as Kurosaki any longer. It just wasn't working.

The creature glanced at him, apparently considering his question.

Green flashed a dozen paces away, a sudden blinding light. The air shivered—and reiatsu crashed down on Tōshirō like the sky had fallen on top of him. Blinding terror swept over him for the briefest moment before he bolstered his own reiatsu around his body and blocked out the demonic aura. Their time was up—Aranami had arrived.

The middle demon prince surveyed the scene, his glowing red eyes moving from Nakita's barrier to Tōshirō—and then to the nameless one beside him.

Aranami's bestial face registered complete shock, followed by confused fury.

"Saiu?" the bull demon demanded, aghast. "Is that—what have you done? Is that _you_?"

The half-Kurosaki creature studied Aranami, by all appearances neither frightened nor flustered by the demon prince's arrival. Admittedly, it was a little hard to tell with that mask.

"Saichi," the creature replied after a long pause. "I am Saichi."

For a moment, Aranami seemed too appalled to speak. "You—you possessed that human boy? You merged yourself with _a human_? Our father's bloodline—and _a human_?" He shook himself. "Foul. Disgusting. You are far more pathetic than I ever imagined, so desperate to avoid death that you would befoul yourself with a human soul. You have destroyed yourself more thoroughly than I would have done."

Saichi seemed unfazed by Aranami's vehemently spat words. He stepped up to Zangetsu and closed one clawed hand around the hilt.

Black power flowed across the blade, and it shivered like a living thing. The edges of the black blade glowed red like Kurosaki's Getsuga Tenshō attack. It rippled suddenly into the shape of a nagamaki then back into Tensa Zangetsu's form. The sword was alive, the Zanpakutō fusing seamlessly with Saiu's Seikiteiruken power. With each passing moment, both Kurosaki and Saiu were being relentlessly absorbed into this new being, into Saichi. How long before they lost themselves entirely to the fusion?

Tōshirō was beginning to suspect that Saiu had been mistaken when he said the possession was reversible.

Saichi lifted his new weapon, balancing it on one palm before curling his fingers around the hilt. He stretched his wings to their full span, then folded them against his back. His red eyes glowed a little brighter.

"In four and a half minutes," Saichi said in his echoing, layered voice, "the destruction spell will be ready. Until then . . ." He turned his wrist, angling the blade of his weapon toward his enemy. "I think I would like to test my new strength. Shall we dance, Aranami?"

"Disgusting," the demon prince hissed. He opened his hand, and his own Seikiteiruken flowed into his grip. "You will be a corpse long before those three minutes are up, brother mine."

Tōshirō gripped Hyōrinmaru tightly and braced his feet. Assuming Saichi remembered their plan and intended to follow through with it, Tōshirō would have just one shot at disabling Aranami. One opening was all that Saiu had promised him.

And even if they won this fight and actually managed to save the world, Tōshirō didn't think there was any way to save Kurosaki from the creature that had swallowed his soul.

* * *

**. x : X : x .**

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

An almost on-time update! Go me! And a chapter almost twice as long as the last one. Also a good thing, right?


	35. Chapter 35

**Disclaimer: **Bleach does not belong to me, but Nakita, Seiko, Saiu, Shoku, Aranami, Nozomi, Hayate, Suisei, Chizome, Teuchi, Moesakaru, and Dokugumo do.

* * *

**DEVIL'S SMILE**

* * *

**Chapter 35**

* * *

He was burning.

Saichi studied the demon before him, analyzing and strategizing; his mind was sharp and agile, a deadly combination of instinct and calculating intelligence. At the same time he considered his enemy, a small fraction of his attention was occupied with the slow but relentless destruction within him.

He was burning. A raging inferno filled his body, a constant agony that he endured without thought. He knew the cause of it: two souls, one light and one dark, competing for survival within a single body. It was impossible for both to coexist; eventually, one soul would destroy the other. Or, perhaps they, like his mind and body, would merge into a single entity, one soul that would be a mix of light and dark, or maybe an unbroken grey that was neither.

Saichi wasn't overly concerned about the fate of his two souls. His inner duality was unnatural and uncomfortable. Whatever soul he ended up with would be fine with him; anything to douse the inferno. He knew that the ideal solution, the desired result, was for his two souls to separate entirely before they were ruined, for him to no longer be one entity but two again. He remembered being two people, being separate and unconnected. He remembered it the same way an adult can remember being a small child. The adult may recall the thoughts and feelings of their younger self, but those childish perceptions hold no sway over the fully matured psyche.

Saichi remembered that both Ichigo and Saiu had desperately wanted to be returned to themselves when their battle was over, but Saichi felt none of their frantic need himself. He _was _Ichigo and Saiu, and if he didn't feel any real conviction towards separation, then neither did they.

Attempting to rationalize the distinct thoughts of Ichigo and Saiu was difficult and unsettling, so Saichi stopped trying. The two souls within him were like oil and water—utterly incompatible. But his mind was as whole and singular as his body, and what little conflict he'd felt immediately after the change had faded now.

The complete mental fusion pleased him as much as it seemed to upset Tōshirō. The young Shinigami Captain's reaction was foolishly sentimental. It would have been impossible to fight Aranami with two competing minds in one body; this was much more effective.

All this went through Saichi's thoughts in the few seconds in which he and Aranami considered one another. The demon prince's expression was rife with disgust, and he still made no move to attack.

"What are you waiting for, brother?" Saichi asked tauntingly. The strange, layered sound of his voice probably should have disturbed him, but didn't. He was remarkably comfortable with who and what he had become.

Aranami's face twisted. "How dare you call me kin," he snarled, apparently having already forgotten he'd just mockingly called Saichi his brother moments before. "My younger brother," he sneered, "has destroyed himself, and you are naught but a foul monstrosity that should be exterminated."

Saichi smiled behind his Hollow mask. Aside from the burning souls, this new form didn't feel foul or monstrous. It felt like glorious release. Like unrestrained freedom. More than anything, it felt like _power_.

"I can change your mind, Aranami," Saichi said softly. "You will envy Saiu's choice by the time I'm finished with you."

Aranami choked out a nasty laugh. "Envy? You are as dimwitted as you are unnatural."

Saichi's hidden smile grew. Ichigo and Saiu had both been limited in so many ways. Ichigo, unable to tap into his full power, too inexperienced and clumsy, too _human_, to use his uncannily deadly battle instincts. Saiu, chained by politics since his first step, his sense of self warped by his inferior position to his older brothers, his abilities caged by the arrogance and ego of a prince whose power had never been challenged.

They had both been blind to their own talents. Saichi had none of their weaknesses or limitations—and all of their strengths. Saiu's experience, skill, and speed. Ichigo's instincts, power, and relative innocence.

Saichi was particularly enjoying that last quality—Ichigo's innocent outlook—because it provided Saichi with an unparalleled clearness of vision. He had Saiu's millennia of experience and knowledge but none of the baggage that came of a long life, none of the emotional chains that might have clouded his perception. It was refreshing—and lethally useful.

Aranami's gaze shifted just slightly to glance at the pyramid barrier behind Saichi.

Saichi snapped his wings open and down, hurling himself forward with savage speed. Aranami jerked his attention back to his enemy, swinging up his Seikiteiruken. With a flick of his tail and tilt of one wing, Saichi altered his trajectory to flash past Aranami's left shoulder. Another pump of his wings sent him straight up into the air. With graceful ease, he tucked in his wings, arched backward—and plunged down at Aranami's head.

The demon lunged out of the way, but Saichi had already snapped his wings open to glide in tight arc, one wingtip brushing the ground. Aranami pulled up and turned—and Saichi slammed full force into the larger demon.

He jammed the point of his sword into Aranami's belly—but of course, he couldn't pierce the demon's skin—and rammed his elbow into the bull's face. With those two points of contact, Saichi bowled Aranami over with his momentum, knocking the huge demon flat on his back.

Saichi rolled free before Aranami could recover, a snap of his wings propelling him out of harm's way. Tōshirō shot into the opening Saichi had just evacuated, his sword glowing with red power.

Aranami bellowed in fury and unleashed an uncontrolled blast of his reiatsu.

The explosion detonated outward from the demon. Saichi launched forward with the full speed of his transformation and snatched the back of Tōshirō's kosode in his claws. With the deadly blast just inches from consuming them, Saichi reached for all the speed he could muster.

The world blurred as he shot upwards with unreal velocity. He spiraled into the sky until he hovered a quarter of a mile above Aranami. Tōshirō planted his feet on air, and Saichi released him.

"What," Tōshirō panted, "was _that_? Shunpo?"

Saichi shrugged. "A combination of Shunpo and Sonído, actually."

Tōshirō's eyes widened. "How did you manage that?"

Since 'instinct' didn't seem like a useful answer, Saichi shrugged again and focused on Aranami, who was heaving himself to his feet.

"I think we'll need your Bankai," he told Tōshirō. "Do you have enough reiatsu?"

Tōshirō nodded tersely. "Just enough. If we can—"

Saichi sucked in a sharp breath and slammed his wings down, shooting toward the ground. With another beat, he pushed himself into the Shunpo/Sonído flash step, reaching Aranami just before Aranami reached Nakita's barrier.

"No closer than that!" Saichi growled, his weapon shifting from daitō to nagamaki.

Aranami brought his battle-axe-shaped Seikiteiruken up just in time to catch the blade of Saichi's nagamaki. Black lightning erupted from the point of contact, blasting the air all around them as they pressed hard into one another's weapons. Saichi sank his taloned feet into the turf, straining to keep the powerful bull demon from pushing him back.

"Was I not supposed to be fraught with envy by now?" Aranami sneered, digging his cloven hooves in and shoving Saichi several inches backwards.

"I said you would be envious by the time I was through with you," Saichi replied. He tightened his grip on his weapon. "_Kōsokuryoku_."

Kidō swirled down his blade and swept over Aranami in a thousand wire-thin bolts of lightning—glowing aquamarine threads stronger than any steel. Saichi was briefly surprised to see that his reiryoku had settled into one consistent colour even though the burn of the battling souls within him was as strong as ever.

He sprang back, planted his feet, and spread his wings wide for balance. Aranami roared his outrage at the spell—a 200-level binding that would take him about fifteen seconds to break.

Saichi lifted his weapon over his head as it shifted back into Tensa Zangetsu's daitō shape. Red light lit the edges of the ebony blade.

"_Getsuga Tenshō_." He whipped the blade down.

Red-rimmed black power exploded from the sword, a raging tidal wave of destruction ten times Ichigo's power. It slammed point-blank into Aranami. The binding shattered and Aranami was hurled back a hundred yards, crashing down on his back and gouging a trench in the valley's soft earth.

The bull demon rolled to his feet almost immediately, mostly unharmed by the blast of power. Saichi flexed his wings, satisfied with the safety cushion of space that now existed between Aranami and Nakita—the sole purpose of his attack.

He glanced up, spotting Tōshirō hovering intently off to one side of Aranami, his ice wings glittering dimly under the overcast sky. The rain has shifted into a light snow, dusting the ground with powdery white. Saichi pulled in a deep breath of cold air, wishing it would cool the fire inside him. There were just over two minutes left before the destruction spell was ready, and it looked like he was going to have to take some risks if he intended to provide a usable opening for Tōshirō to strike Aranami.

He tipped his head to one side, considering for a brief moment. Two minutes. With a flick of his tail, he launched into the air.

One beat of his wings. Two beats. Three. And then he flashed across the distance between his target and him. Aranami swung his battle axe, intending to cleave Saichi in half—but he spun in the air at the last moment, sliding past the blade with only a breath of space between him and death. Catching one of Aranami's black horns in his free hand, Saichi used the horn like a hinge, pivoting at top speed to slam into Aranami's back.

Grunting from the impact that almost knocked Aranami off his feet, Saichi snapped his sword across Aranami's neck from behind. Then he hooked his other arm around the blade to form an inescapable chokehold. Wings spread for balance, he braced both feet against the small of Aranami's back for leverage—and hauled back with all his strength on the sword across the demon's throat.

Aranami choked, spluttering and snarling in gasps. The sword couldn't cut his skin—but it could cut off his air. Aranami reached over his shoulder, claws just missing Saichi's mask. Saichi coiled his tail around Aranami's thick wrist, trying to hold the demon's hand away for a moment longer—just long enough for Tōshirō to attack.

Aranami managed to grab the edge of Saichi's wing just as Tōshirō reached them.

Fragile bone snapped as Aranami's powerful fingers pulverized the wing's front rib. Aranami yanked hard on the wing, almost pulling Saichi over his shoulder. Saichi's grip on his weapon slipped just as Tōshirō lunged in.

Hyōrinmaru sliced into Aranami's side, and the demon let out a howl, more surprise than pain. But Saichi had lost his grip, and Aranami was already whipping his Seikiteiruken toward Tōshirō. The Shinigami was _too slow!_

Saichi smacked his tail into Tōshirō's middle, knocking the boy out of the path of the axe. He clung to Aranami's broad back a moment longer, then threw himself off. Snatching Tōshirō's arm, he shot them up into the sky a second time.

"Sorry," Tōshirō panted, clutching Hyōrinmaru with both hands. "You're both so—damn—fast. I can't keep up."

Saichi growled softly. Although he was able to force Aranami to leave openings, Tōshirō wasn't fast enough to get in and deliver a successful strike before Aranami recovered.

And now Aranami knew what they were trying to do.

The bull demon prodded his side, looking coldly surprised to see blood. The wound was too shallow to even slow the demon prince down. He looked up at Saichi and Tōshirō, baring his fangs.

"That's some trick," the demon said, sounding almost conversational.

He leaped upward, speeding across the distance between them with his axe aimed for Tōshirō. Saichi spun around and grabbed Tōshirō to pull him away—but his broken wing didn't provide the balance he needed and he overshot his reach. Instead of taking hold of Tōshirō's arm, his claws slid across ice and clamped shut on air.

Aranami swung his axe at Tōshirō's face. Saichi threw himself into Tōshirō, shattering one of his ice wings and flinging him out of harm's way. Aranami let out a howl of triumphant laughter as he altered his swing to bury his weapon in Saichi's back.

Snarling, he twisted in midair, trying to avoid the strike. The corner of the axe caught his stomach, tearing a line of agonizing ice across his belly. Saichi doubled up involuntarily, curling his body around the wound—and Aranami slammed a fist down on Saichi's back.

The force of the blow hurled him straight down, and he crashed to the ground in a burst of snowflakes and dirt. He clutched his middle as the cancerous burn of the Kokushibyo wound instantly began to spread. His breath hissed through his clenched teeth, and he heaved himself to his feet, forcing his back to straighten.

Aranami landed a few paces away, grinning broadly. "Now I am wrought with indecision. Should I slaughter you like the beast you are, or watch your slow, agonizing death from my blade's poison?"

Saichi huffed a small laugh. "By all means, stand and watch." He lifted his chin, forcing his broken wing to stretch out to its full extent and pushing his shoulders back against the consuming pain in his stomach.

Black, icy power uncoiled inside him, and his eyes glowed. As the cold flood of Hollow power swept through him, his wounds healed, sucking closed like they'd never been. He twitched his wings, smiling insolently behind his mask. Unlike Ichigo, Saichi had much greater control over his Hollow powers—including the ability to regenerate any wound.

Aranami's face tightened, and for a long moment they faced each other, unmoving. It was a stalemate, and they both knew it. Saichi was too fast, but Aranami was too strong. The time to act was draining away too quickly. One of them was going to have to break the stalemate. How?

Forty-five seconds.

"Your Diviner is going to fail," Aranami said. "The dissolution spell is too much for her. I will win on both counts, and you know it."

Forty seconds.

Tōshirō stepped into Saichi's peripheral vision, thirty paces to Aranami's right.

Inhale. Exhale. He set his feet, digging his talons into the turf for maximum purchase. It would take something drastic, something reckless and stupidly dangerous, to break the stalemate. His lips curved in a humourless smile.

With a howling cry, he launched himself straight at Aranami—the simplest, most obvious and desperate move that could be made in a battle: the suicidal head-on charge.

Aranami was nothing if not predictable in battle. Saichi knew exactly how Aranami would respond to such an attack, how he _always_ responded.

Aranami's battle axe morphed into a massive two-handed broadsword, and he lunged to meet Saichi, the point leveled at Saichi's chest. With his momentum and speed, Saichi couldn't avoid it—and didn't try. With a flick of his tail, he lifted his body just enough that the blade missed his heart.

Glacial agony ripped through his lower chest as the broadsword pierced the center of his body just below his ribcage. His momentum carried him down the blade until he slid into the hilt of the weapon. Unbearable pain made his muscles lock down. He met Aranami's eyes, almost nose-to-snout with the demon prince.

Aranami looked both shocked and triumphant. Saichi tried to breathe and couldn't. Teeth clenched against the black unconsciousness that threatened his mind from the incredible agony of having a Seikiteiruken buried in his middle, he forced first one hand, then the other to clench around Aranami's wrists, trapping the demon's hands on his sword. Swallowing a cry of pain as his back muscles tore around the wound, he pulled his wings around him and stretched them in front of him to beat harmlessly against Aranami's shoulders.

"Pathetic," Aranami hissed. "I envy you only the speed of your death, for I will not allow you to heal yourself a second time."

Saichi rather doubted he could heal such a debilitating wound, but that didn't matter.

"You should envy me," he gasped breathlessly, "for just one thing."

"Oh?" the demon sneered. "What might that be?"

Saichi smiled tightly. "Envy my resolve, for I have more than you could ever dream. And that—that is why _I _am the victor."

With a blast of ice and red light, Tōshirō's sword burst from the center of Aranami's chest.

Aranami's eyes went wide with disbelief. His mouth opened, only to disgorge bloody froth. Saichi dropped his wings—no longer needed to block Aranami's peripheral vision from Tōshirō's approach—and staggered back until the broadsword slid free from his chest.

Braced behind Aranami, Tōshirō twisted his sword sharply, tearing through Aranami's heart. The demon let out a gurgling croak. His weapon faded away in his hands, and he stumbled forward a step. Then he collapsed, dropping to the bloodied ground with his red eyes wide and still staring sightlessly with shock.

Saichi limped a few more steps away, then sank down to his knees, clutching the frozen hole in his chest. He tried again to breathe, but his lungs would barely expand.

Fifteen seconds.

"Saichi," Tōshirō panted, hurrying to his side.

"Well done, Tōshirō," he forced out in a gasp. His head spun.

Ten seconds.

"You sacrificed yourself to buy me enough time to attack," Tōshirō said quietly.

Saichi let his eyes slide closed. "I could do no less." Not with both Ichigo's and Saiu's resolve driving him. He hadn't been exaggerating when he'd said Aranami should envy him for that; he had double the resolve, determination, and willpower of any other being in any of the worlds.

Five seconds. Four. Th—

Blinding white light burned through his eyelids. His eyes snapped open, and he twisted to face Nakita's barrier. The whole pyramid glowed white, bulging outward into a bubble as pressures built within it. The air shuddered, shivered—and the barrier burst, shattering into dust.

Glowing white symbols lit the earth in coiling designs that overlaid the dimmer, coloured swirls of the destruction spell. In their center knelt Nakita, her red hair whipped upward by an intangible wind, her Shinigami garb rippling from the power swirling around her. She held her arms out to either side, straight and rigid, her head tipped back, face lifted to the heavens.

White light shot up from the symbols, towering pillars that disappeared into the sky. Nakita knelt in their center, solid as the earth itself. The light brightened, brightened until it blinded Saichi and he could see nothing but white.

Air boomed, impossibly violent thunder, and the light blasted outward like a shattered dam. The shockwave slammed into Saichi, nearly throwing him on his back, and the ground shook beneath him.

With a sigh of fading wind, the world became still again.

The white light was gone, and with it, the destruction spell. Nakita knelt in the center of a barren square of earth and slowly lowered her arms to her sides. All signs of Kidō were gone, completely obliterated by the dissolution spell.

Tōshirō inhaled shakily. "She did it," he whispered. "She did it."

Nakita sat unmoving for a moment longer before her shoulders drooped, and she slowly slumped over onto her side. Her spirit pulse gave one final flutter of life, and Saichi felt sorrow weigh him down as it died away like the last flicker of a candle flame.

Tōshirō's breath caught, and Saichi closed his eyes wearily as the young Shinigami rushed toward the Diviner, already too late to even hold her in her last moments. He pressed both hands over the growing hole in his chest, bearing the icy agony of the wound even as he endured the fiery burn of the souls inside him as they relentlessly destroyed one another.

Sacrifices were necessary in battle. The higher the stakes, the greater the sacrifices. Victory had come, and he knew the price was worth it. Nakita would say exactly the same thing. And yet . . .

The lethal freeze of the Kokushibyo wound spread up through his chest, its icy touch making his heart pound frantically as though trying to escape his body, and he felt too little satisfaction at their success. This wasn't how he wanted to win. Not a martyr, a sacrifice. He'd already sacrificed enough.

He wasn't ready to die yet.

* * *

**. x : X : x .**

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**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Everyone heard about the upcoming 4th Bleach movie? Called, most interestingly, the "Hell Chapter"? I am super excited about it, not only because—OMG, it's a new Bleach movie!—but also because I can't wait to see just how close to or far off the mark I am with this fic. I've never inadvertently predicted canon plot arcs before!

I also want to thank everyone for the _amazing _reviews I got for last chapter. You wouldn't believe how delighted I was—and how they all made me want to write the next chapter even more! Thank you so much!

* * *

**GLOSSARY:**

**Daitō** - Japanese long sword; a general term for a single-edged, curved sword longer than 60 cm (2 ft).

**Kōsokuryoku** ("Binding Force") - A 200-level Kidō binding spell that creates thousands of unbreakable, wire-like energy strands that tangle around and completely immobilize the target; when cast successfully, the binding transcends dimensions and binds the victim indefinitely across all planes of existence. (Used on Aranami, the full extent of the spell was not achieved.)*

*Denotes a non-canon term/concept.


	36. Chapter 36

**Disclaimer: **Bleach does not belong to me, but Nakita, Seiko, Saiu, Shoku, Aranami, Nozomi, Hayate, Suisei, Chizome, Teuchi, Moesakaru, and Dokugumo do.

* * *

**DEVIL'S SMILE**

* * *

**Chapter 36**

* * *

Saichi exhaled slowly, keeping both hands pressed tightly against the hole in his chest. With another failed attempt at a deep breath, he carefully stood. A critical glance at Aranami's unmoving form, and unease slid through him. Looking away, he spread his wings and pushed into the air.

Agony ripped through his torso, but his flight was over almost before he had a chance to feel it. He landed heavily a half-dozen paces away from Tōshirō and Nakita, sinking to his knees immediately. He was weaker than he'd thought.

He pulled in another laborious breath. The wound was spreading quickly, and he didn't have much time. He would take another few moments to gather his remaining strength before trying to heal it—and another few minutes to let the warring souls within him finish their battle. It was almost over. He could feel it.

He had to wait until he had only one soul before he healed his wounds. He was certain that Ichigo's Hollow powers would stay with him no matter which soul dominated, but once the healing was complete, he would have to let go of his Hollow mask. He wouldn't have the strength left to maintain it—not without ceding control completely to the Hollow. But Saiu, in an attempt to save Ichigo's soul, had tied his possession to Ichigo's Hollow powers—and therefore the mask. If Saichi abandoned the mask while both souls survived within him, he didn't know what would happen to him.

Since his chances of surviving weren't all that good either way, he had to deliver one last instruction beforehand.

"Tōshirō," he said, reluctant to disturb the Shinigami's grief—or to draw Tōshirō's attention to himself. It was only a matter of time before the boy focused enough to recall that Saichi was supposed to reverse the possession now that the fight was over, to revert back into Saiu and Ichigo if at all possible.

Saichi had no intention whatsoever of destroying himself. He didn't care what Saiu or Ichigo had wanted in their past lives. _Saichi_ wanted to survive—and that meant keeping both halves of himself together.

For a moment, Tōshirō didn't respond to Saichi's voice. He sat with Nakita's head and shoulders cradled in his lap, her hair spilling across the ground beside him like a puddle of blood. When he finally looked up to meet Saichi's gaze, his face was almost expressionless. Only the tightness of his mouth and the storms of emotion in his eyes revealed the loss he felt.

Saichi didn't entirely understand why Nakita's death would affect Tōshirō so strongly; they hadn't known each other for very long. Was it a bond strengthened more by the common ground between them—their relative youth, power, and responsibilities—than actual time spent together?

"Tōshirō," Saichi said again, keeping his tone respectful in the light of the boy's sorrow—though the Hollow-mask distorted his voice enough that perhaps Tōshirō couldn't tell. "There is one more thing you must do before you can grieve."

Tōshirō blinked a few times, struggling to bring his mind back on task. "It isn't over?"

Of course it wasn't. Not only was Seireitei still overrun by demons, but there was one more demon to be dealt with first. "Nearly. But before anything else is done, you must use Hyōrinmaru to—"

The words turned to a gasp in his throat, and he hunched forward as the air slid from his lungs. He tried to breathe and couldn't get any air at all. The Kokushibyo wound had spread through his chest—and eaten holes into both his lungs. His chest heaved, but no air moved through his punctured lungs, leaving nothing for him to breathe.

"Saichi?" Tōshirō slid from underneath Nakita, his eyes widening with alarm. "What's wrong?"

His head spun, dizziness clouding his mind. He was out of time.

"Heal it!" Tōshirō said urgently. "Do it now!"

No. He wasn't ready. The two souls were still burning inside him, just on the verge of resolution. Another minute or two—

"Saichi!" Tōshirō yelled. "What are you waiting for?"

If he healed himself now—if it was even possible to heal himself—he might be destroyed. If the possession reversed with the loss of the Hollow mask, he, Saichi, would cease to exist. He couldn't allow that to happen. His drive to live—a drive inherited from both Ichigo and Saiu—was too strong.

But if he did nothing, he would die anyway. Furious, desperate, he turned his thoughts inward and reached for the darkness of the Hollow within.

Icy, savage power swept through his body, making his muscles cramp and his vision go black. It swirled through him, repairing the damage of pulled or torn muscles from the fight, and then it swept through his middle, wrapping around the burning Kokushibyo wound—and nothing happened.

Curling around his middle until his forehead was almost touching the ground, Saichi snarled soundlessly and wrenched more Hollow power from the depths of his soul.

A searing wave of obsidian reiatsu flooded his body, and Saichi felt the Hollow's madness touch his mind. He shoved it away, concentrating instead on pushing the power towards his wound. Again, the power swirled around the hole, two terrible powers competing for dominance. The Hollow power regenerated the edges of the wound as the negating power of the Seikiteiruken ate away at the newly healed flesh.

The wound was so much larger than the last, with so much more of the Seikiteiruken's infection working to devour him. Not enough Hollow power, not enough to make the high-speed regeneration fast enough.

Abandoning all caution, with only seconds of consciousness left, he cast off all the chains of dominance with which he'd bound the Hollow and grabbed desperately for its power—and had just a moment to recognize his error as the Hollow slammed through him and he lost all control.

* * *

**. o : O : o .**

* * *

Fierce, heavy reiatsu burst from Saichi, and Tōshirō stumbled back against the wave of pressure. Snatching Hyōrinmaru from where he'd left it on the ground, he braced his feet and waited.

Black power eddied like fog around Saichi's knees where the demon/Shinigami-cross knelt. He had bent over nearly in half, but Tōshirō could see the burnt-black hole in Saichi's back—and could see the wound wasn't healing. Another wave of power flooded the air around them, rough and potent. Saichi's wings quivered and his tail lashed back and forth. Still the wound remained.

As seconds passed, despair crept through Tōshirō. The injury was too much. Saichi would die—and with him, Kurosaki and Saiu. Nakita's pale, lifeless face flashed through his mind's eye, and his throat tightened with grief. They'd already lost _too damn much!_

Saichi's whole body shuddered violently—and a huge wave of power crashed into Tōshirō. He staggered back a step, his breath catching at he saw the swirling blackness writhing around Saichi's body. Another pulse of power—and Tōshirō's face blanked. Saichi's reiatsu was changing fast—changing from demonic to Hollow with terrifying speed.

With another shudder, Saichi suddenly snapped straight. His back arched forwards for a moment like he was in terrible pain, the hole in his lower chest like window through his body. One more violent shudder—

Tōshirō flinched back. Saichi was suddenly standing up. Tōshirō hadn't seen the movement at all, it had been so fast.

Black, feral power churned the air, and the glowing red eyes behind Saichi's mask turned bright gold. A rippling wave of ebony light cascaded over his body, condensing around the lethal wound. The hole sucked inward, healing between one heartbeat and the next, leaving unblemished skin behind.

The golden eyes glowed brighter, and Saichi's skin began to pale as though all the blood was draining out of him. As his skin turned chalk-white, black markings seemed to draw themselves down his chest, and an even blacker spot formed in the center of his chest right over his heart. He arched backwards, head thrown back, fingers curling until the full length of his claws unsheathed, and a low, dangerous snarl rumbled from him.

Terror swept through Tōshirō. In drawing so much of his inner Hollow's power, Saichi had _unleashed_ the Hollow. He was becoming a Hollow—an impossibly strong Vasto Lorde with all the power of Captain-level Shinigami _and_ a demon prince. But maybe—

Tōshirō looked into those gold eyes and saw nothing but bloodlust and madness staring back at him. No, Saichi was not in control.

He had to stop it. Even if that meant destroying Saichi, Kurosaki, and Saiu all at once. He had to.

Before he had time to hesitate, Tōshirō grasped Hyōrinmaru tightly in both hands and lunged for the Hollow. Distracted by its metamorphosis, it didn't react until Tōshirō was almost on top of it—and then it was too late. He swung Hyōrinmaru up over his head. Red light swept down his blade. With a precise, lightning-fast stroke, Tōshirō cut straight down the center of the Hollow mask.

The Hollow jerked away from him. Tōshirō skittered backwards, tense and ready to attack again. They both went completely still, staring at one another. A clean, straight slice divided the mask into perfect halves, but except for that single hairline crack no other damage was visible.

One heartbeat. Two.

The mask shattered.

Tōshirō caught a brief glimpse of a face behind the mask—a face with finer features and more exotic lines than Kurosaki's, a disconcertingly striking countenance with bright, burgundy eyes—before a blast of power erupted outward from Saichi and slammed into Tōshirō with such force that he was hurled off his feet.

He rolled to absorb the impact and flattened himself to the ground as power raged above him. As abruptly as it had started—it stopped. The air stilled, and Tōshirō was able to breathe again. He rolled to his feet and stared around frantically to see what Saichi—or the Hollow—had done.

But Saichi wasn't there.

Two unmoving forms were crumpled a dozen feet apart on either side of the spot where Saichi had been, as though they too had been thrown by that wave of power. Two very familiar unmoving forms: Kurosaki and Saiu.

Shock held him for a moment before he rushed to Kurosaki's side. Dropping to his knees and setting his sword aside, he grabbed Kurosaki by the shoulders and rolled him over. His eyes were closed, his face slack in unconsciousness.

"Kurosaki?" Tōshirō asked urgently. "Can you hear me?"

No response. Tuning into his other senses, he felt worry tighten his stomach as he checked Kurosaki's reiatsu. The human Shinigami had about half the reiryoku he'd had before the possession, and it was still the same bright aquamarine colour as Saichi's. Had the possession really reversed, or had Saichi simply split into two bodies?

Tōshirō looked over at Saiu, wondering if it was a bad sign that Saiu was in his human-like form and not his demonic form. The demon prince had the exact same amount of reiryoku as Ichigo—Saichi's reiryoku appeared to have been divided equally between them—and his too was aquamarine in colour. Another bad sign.

He frowned then, thinking he'd seen Saiu's hand move. The demon's fingers twitched, almost clenching into a fist.

"Saiu?" Tōshirō called.

Saiu gave a full-bodied shudder. Moving like every little shift of muscle hurt, he pushed himself up until he hand both hands braced on the ground to hold his torso almost upright. He stopped there, head handing as though anything more was too much effort.

"Saiu?" Tōshirō said again, feeling another wave of anxiety.

The demon prince rocked his head slowly back and forth, then drooped sluggishly back toward the ground. He brought both hands up to his face—and clamped them down on either side of his head with sudden force, clutching his skull it would burst if he loosened his grip.

"Saiu!" Tōshirō jumped to his feet. "Are you alright?"

"Oh," said a voice behind him, "I very much doubt he is in any way fine right now."

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as Tōshirō turned. Seconds felt like minutes as he pivoted to face the owner of the voice, a voice he easily recognized. Like a scene from a dream, he remembered Nakita explaining to the Gotei 13 how to kill a demon. The only sure way was to cut off its head, she'd explained. Even piercing its heart wasn't always enough.

Tōshirō met Aranami's enraged red eyes and knew what Saichi had been about to tell him he needed to do before anything else.

_Behead Aranami. Finish him off before he heals the damage to his heart._

Aranami smiled a terrible smile, then placed his huge cloven hoof precisely over Hyōrinmaru's blade—Tōshirō had left the sword on the ground beside Kurosaki, out of easy reach. He'd let his guard down. He'd failed them all, and now he, Kurosaki, Saiu, and Soul Society were going to pay for his oversight.

The demon prince stepped down. Metal groaned under the pressure—and then Hyōrinmaru shattered into fragments, leaving only a useless inch of blade attached to the hilt.

Still smiling, Aranami walked past Tōshirō, moving until he stood over his younger brother. Saiu continued to hold his head in both hands, curled up as though in desperate pain, and didn't seem to be aware of Aranami at all.

Baring his fangs in a vicious grin, Aranami leaned down, grabbed Saiu by the throat, and lifted him off the ground.

"Dearest little brother," the elder prince mocked. "How kind of you to rejoin the material world."

Saiu, one hand pressed to his forehead, wrapped the other around Aranami's wrist. His eyes opened to slits, dull and unfocused. He met his brother's gloating glare and a little awareness seemed to come into his gaze. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Aranami's huge fist had completely engulfed Saiu's neck, choking off his air completely.

"By undoing my spell, you succeeded in preventing me from killing one of my brothers," Aranami said, his eyes glowing, "but I will take some satisfaction from killing my other brother instead."

A movement near Tōshirō's feet, and he looked down to see Kurosaki awake and struggling to stand. He grabbed Kurosaki's arm and pulled him up. Kurosaki staggered sideways into Tōshirō before catching his balance, staring with horror at the two demon princes.

"Help him," Kurosaki croaked in barely more than a whisper.

Aranami was smiling with bloodthirsty satisfaction. "The lesser prize, to be sure," he continued to his semi-conscious sibling, "but ambitions aside, I will take _much_ greater pleasure in your death than our elder brother's." He pulled Saiu's face a little closer to his. "You have been an infectious thorn in my side for far too long, and today I will finally be rid of you—forever."

His powerful hand squeezed, and Saiu's eyes rolled back in his head.

"Help him!" Kurosaki cried desperately. He jerked forward, but Tōshirō yanked him back before he could attack Aranami.

Hyōrinmaru was shattered. Without Hiren's power, both he and Kurosaki were helpless against Aranami. So was Saiu, who was minutes from death and too incapacitated from the reversed possession to defend himself at all. Tōshirō clenched his teeth. They had to try anyway. They would die fighting, not standing there waiting for the enemy to get around to killing them.

"Let's go," he said tersely. He started to step forward—and reiatsu hit him like the weight of a mountain thrown into his chest.

Green light flashed brightly a dozen yards beyond Aranami—another teleportation Kidō. Demonic reiatsu sizzled the air. The light faded, revealing the newcomer.

The new demon wasn't a match for Aranami in height or bulk, but his lean, muscular frame radiated power and deadly grace. Ice-white hair felt over one shoulder in a loose braid, and his eyes were pupil-less red. Two sets of three horns sprouted from his skull behind his pointed ears, sweeping back along the sides of his head.

But what caught and held Tōshirō's attention was the fact that the demon was dressed in blue-accented, black clothing—the same kind of Demon Hunter garb as Shoku.

"Prince Aranami," the newcomer said in a smooth, deep voice that had an undertone of command—the voice of a person used to giving orders.

"Ah, dear cousin," Aranami sneered. "What, might I ask, are you doing here?"

Ignoring the question, the demon said calmly, "I must ask you to release Prince Saiu immediately, your Highness."

Aranami's eyes widened for a moment before he barked a laugh. "Why by the sweet night would I do that?" He gave his brother a little shake. Saiu appeared to be only fractionally consciousness, and his spirit pulse beat with increasing weakness.

"Prince Aranami," the demon said firmly, unfazed and unafraid, "please release Prince Saiu now."

Aranami opened his mouth—and green light flashed again. And again—and _again_.

Eight bursts of bright green, four on each side of the newcomer. As the light faded, Tōshirō could only clutch Ichigo's arm and stare—and struggle to breathe under the weight of the reiatsu pounding down on them.

Eight new arrivals, and every one of them a Demon Hunter. Six men and two women, all holding Akkihasaiki, all confident and mature in their power. Tōshirō didn't need any kind of introduction to know who were now facing down Aranami.

Eight Demon Hunters. Eight Captains. Which meant the white-haired demon had to be their leader: the Warlord of the Yokujin.

Tōshirō's jaw tightened. How had Nakita so completely failed to mention that the leader of the Demon Hunters _was_ a demon? No wonder she'd told Matsumoto that she didn't trust her own Captain-Commander. A demon!

"Prince Aranami," the Warlord said, threat thickening his voice. "I will only ask one more time. Please release your brother."

Aranami eyed the line of nine warriors facing him. His mouth flattened into a furious line. "You and your little Captains aren't enough to stop me."

"No," the Warlord replied agreeably. "But we can certainly do a great deal of damage."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Actually, we would."

"What makes you so brave today, dear cousin?" Aranami asked mockingly. "Or is not bravery but a suicide attempt?"

The Warlord tilted his head slightly, as though listening for something. Then he smiled.

Green light burst into existence as the tenth arrival to the scene made a belated appearance. This time when the reiatsu crashed down on him, Tōshirō's knees buckled. Kurosaki mirrored him, and together they thumped to the ground on their knees, struggling to stay upright even that much as the weight tore at their bodies, dragging them downward.

Aranami's face went blank with shock—and he immediately threw his brother away from him. Saiu fell, hitting the ground in a heap. He seemed to snap back into consciousness immediately, rolling to his feet and staggering several more steps away from his brother. His eyes, too, were locked on the newest entrant.

The tenth arrival stepped calmly around the Warlord and surveyed the scene with expressionless red-black eyes. The _exact_ same eyes as Saiu.

Tōshirō felt his blood go cold.

The new demon was about midway between Aranami and Saiu in height, with a slender, elegant build. His face was beautiful, as cold and remote as the moon, as emotionless as stone. His raven-black hair was done in elaborate braids that fell down his back to his waist, complementing the formal garments he wore, black layered with silver and blood-red. He radiated regal authority—and infinite, devastating power.

The third demon prince had arrived.

* * *

**. x : X : x .**

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Who forgot that Saiu talked to the Warlord before coming to Soul Society? Not me! Hehe.

(Sorry, brain is exhausted from writing all afternoon and editing most of the evening. Randomness is an unfortunate side effect.)

Saichi was incredibly fun to write. I'm going to miss him.

To Bleach manga readers: It is my opinion that Ichigo has achieved a new level of hotness. I am impressed. And very happy.


	37. Chapter 37

**Disclaimer: **Bleach does not belong to me, but Nakita, Seiko, Saiu, Shoku, Aranami, Nozomi, Hayate, Suisei, Chizome, Teuchi, Moesakaru, Dokugumo, Saichi, and Shiose (Prince Heir) do.

* * *

**DEVIL'S SMILE**

* * *

**Chapter 37**

* * *

The third demon prince studied the scene before him, so still and silent he seemed not to breathe.

He resembled Saiu far more than Aranami, with the same pale, slightly teal-tinted skin and an almost too-perfect face. However, he had small, curved bull horns, almost identical to Aranami's except in size. The third prince didn't look any older than Aranami—maybe in his late twenties—but he _felt_ much older. He had an even stronger aura of age-old power than Captain-Commander Yamamoto had—except Yamamoto had never radiated such icy, unyielding, unforgiving darkness as this creature did.

Aranami was the first to move, rolling his shoulders as though stretching the muscles. His body shimmered with a wave of blackish green reiatsu, and his form changed: his bullish bulk diminishing into a large man instead of a monster of nightmares. The horns shrank, the clawed hands and hooved feet morphed back into something almost human, and the solid glowing red of his eyes shifted into the same red-black, pupil-less irises on white sclera as the other princes.

"Brother," he greeted his elder sibling in a near growl. His expression was torn between fury, resentment, and resignation.

"Brother," Saiu said very softly, his tone respectful bordering on reverent.

"Brothers," the Prince Heir replied, his gaze moving from Aranami to Saiu. His voice was a quiet, melodious tenor—and as detached and emotionless as his face. He was quiet for a moment. "I confess I am disappointed."

The silence that fell was filled with tension, a palpable anxiety that bordered on fear.

Tōshirō sucked in a sharp breath and held it, his body rigid as he absorbed Saiu's and Aranami's reactions, hardly able to believe what he saw. Aranami and Saiu were _afraid_ of their elder brother. Fear on either of their parts made no sense to him.

Saiu had faced down Aranami without fear, even on the verge of death. Aranami had just orchestrated an elaborate plot to assassinate the Prince Heir. From what Tōshirō knew of both of them, he would have expected them to face the presence of the eldest Prince with any range of emotions—but not fear. In spite of their fearlessness toward one another, both younger demon princes stood submissively before the Prince Heir, all aggression gone from them, all rebellion or defiance erased from their personalities.

Tōshirō glanced at Kurosaki, seeing his own confusion reflected in the other's eyes. Saiu had gone to all these lengths, made so many sacrifices, to save the Prince Heir's life—and now facing the brother he'd almost died to protect, Saiu didn't look relieved. Behind the closed expression, Saiu seemed almost apprehensive. Not a comforting thought.

The Prince Heir looked between his siblings again. "I had hoped our cousin was mistaken in his claims when he insisted I accompany him to the human world," he continued tonelessly. "That _both_ my brothers would see fit to enter Soul Society when I had so expressly forbidden such an action . . . such an occurrence upsets me."

Tōshirō felt his mouth drop open. Didn't the demon prince realize what had happened? Aranami had been trying to kill him—and Saiu had saved his life! And he was upset about them leaving Hell without permission?

"The Warlord spoke of binding spells and Kidō spanning all of Seireitei that would destroy the Shinigami . . ." The demon's eyes travelled slowly over Saiu, then drifted around the Kidō-free meadow. "I see none of this. I see naught but two rival princes indulging in petty squabbles."

Tōshirō's eyes bulged as he clamped down on the cheated fury rising in him. Kurosaki made a quiet choking sound.

"I would have an explanation," the Prince Heir said quietly—and as both Saiu and Aranami went inhumanly still, Tōshirō recognized that the wrong words now could mean death for one or both of demon prince brothers.

Saiu glanced at Aranami, then straightened his shoulders and seemed to brace himself for the worst.

"I can offer you nothing but my word that all I disclosed to the Warlord was truth," he said in the same quiet, deferential tone. "Both spells were destroyed. Aranami's confidants and allies have been killed in the course of battle. Proof of Aranami's treachery no longer exists."

Aranami's upper lip curled before he smoothed his expression. "And I, brother, deny all that our younger sibling has claimed. It was his attempt to discredit me in your eyes that drew me here. As you know, Saiu bears no genuine responsibilities as a prince; it would seem he has far too much unclaimed time to indulge in jealous plots against us." He paused, as if considering. "Perhaps our rivalry, as you said, carried us into recklessness. I can offer only my most sincere apologies that I allowed Saiu to provoke me into responding inappropriately to his childish games."

Tōshirō tightened his grip on Kurosaki's arm and shot him a warning look. Kurosaki reluctantly closed his mouth before speaking, his eyes glimmering with resentful fury.

The Prince Heir pondered their words for several long minutes, his expression utterly indecipherable—mostly because it was nonexistent. This prince made Saiu look like an open book.

The Prince Heir nodded to himself as though coming to a decision. "The only crime I can confirm has occurred is the presence of a demon force in Soul Society. However, it is impossible to prove or disprove which of you is responsible for their presence if their commanders have deceased. Lacking such necessary information, I cannot lay blame on either of you for that crime." His eyes narrowed. "Yet, proof that you have both deliberately defied my command to shun Soul Society stands before me. This disobedience I will not tolerate."

He stared first at Aranami and then at Saiu until they broke eye contact, unwilling to dispute the accusation and submitting utterly to the will of their elder brother.

"I will determine your punishments when we return." His gaze shifted to the Warlord. "I am not pleased with you either, cousin. Your promises of treachery and treason have not been realized, and I resent being pulled from my duties to referee my brothers' bickering." His gaze slid across the meadow, settling on Tōshirō and Kurosaki for a long moment. Then he looked back at the Warlord. "Have your Captains collect the demons in Soul Society."

The Prince Heir turned as though to walk away, then paused. He glanced over his shoulder. "Brothers. I expect you both to present yourselves to me tomorrow at midnight for your punishments. Enter Soul Society again before then and I will see that you do not set foot outside Hell for a hundred score years and more."

Then he walked away. After a dozen steps, green light engulfed him as he teleported, vanishing from sight and senses.

Tōshirō slumped as the terrible pressure of the Prince Heir's reiatsu lifted. Damn. And he'd thought _Aranami's_ power was terrifying.

Saiu, Aranami, and the Warlord all relaxed noticeably once the Prince Heir was gone.

"I cannot believe you brought him _here_," Aranami snarled at the Warlord. "What were you thinking?"

The Warlord rolled his shoulders in a casual shrug. "I was obeying orders. It is unfortunate it took me so long to convince your brother to accompany me. He's not one for any attitude of cooperation. My apologies, Prince Saiu. If we'd arrived in time for your brother to see the spell . . ."

Saiu didn't answer, nor did he react when everyone looked at him. He appeared to be staring at some point in the distance, his gaze unfocused.

"Your Highness? Prince Saiu?"

Saiu snapped back into focus, blinking at the Warlord. "What?"

Aranami laughed nastily. "Enjoying the side effects, dear brother? How does it feel, being _human_?"

The Warlord's eyes widened.

Saiu cast his brother a look so icily dismissive that Tōshirō shivered. "I am no more human than I was yesterday. Do you truly believe I took no precautions against contamination?"

The older demon sneered. "I wouldn't have thought you had the time for that. It certainly did not _appear_ you preformed the proper possession rituals."

With a contemptuous little sound, Saiu turned away from Aranami. "You have always lacked subtlety, brother. How much of this failed plot was the devising of Ito Shoku? Most of it, I would imagine."

Aranami snarled at the insult, his eyes gleaming blood-red for a second. The Warlord and his eight Captains tensed. Lip curling derisively, Aranami settled into a more relaxed pose.

"Well, brother, I may have lost this round—but whatever you might claim otherwise, you lost too. Perhaps even more than I." His expression was malicious. "I can feel the change in you. That possession damaged you, whether you took precautions or not." He smiled. "I _do_ hope you recover so we can play this game again—but I doubt you will."

With a low, nasty chuckle, the demon prince walked away in the same direction as the Prince Heir. He cast the teleportation Kidō and vanished amidst green light.

The Warlord glanced at Saiu, then turned to his Captains. "To Seireitei then," he said quietly. "Round up the demons, kill any that resist, and gather the remaining Diviners from the 2nd Company. Leave the commanding Diviner and Nakajima Seiko in the city to deal with the Shinigami. I would prefer as little interaction between you and the residents of Soul Society as possible."

"What about Captain Matsuo?" one of the female Captains asked in a murmur, looking expressionlessly at Nakita.

"I will take care of her."

The Captains saluted, then launched into Shunpo, shooting towards the distant city with impressive speed. When they had moved beyond all senses, silence fell over the remaining four, and once again Saiu seemed to have lost all awareness, staring at nothing as though lost in some inner landscape of his mind.

As Kurosaki moved—stiffly, as though every muscle pained him—toward Saiu, Tōshirō watched the Warlord kneel beside Nakita's body, the demon's expression vaguely sad. A sudden flare of possessive anger swept through Tōshirō. For no real reason, he didn't want the demon touching Nakita.

"What are you doing?" he demanded. He glanced at Kurosaki and Saiu, seeing that they stood very close together, Kurosaki's hand on Saiu's shoulder as he spoke very quietly to the demon prince. Feeling uncomfortable, as though he was spying on something private, Tōshirō strode over to the Warlord, clenching his jaw. Anger was easier to face than grief.

"I asked, what are you doing?" he said more forcefully, wishing he had Hyōrinmaru, even broken, at hand.

The Warlord gently straightened Nakita's limbs until she might have been sleeping comfortably on the ground—if not for the deathly pallor of her skin, her utter stillness, and emptiness where her spirit should have pulsed brightly. The demon then lifted her left hand, palm up, and drew her arm away from her side.

The Warlord cast Tōshirō one slashing glance that made him snap his mouth shut before he could demand any more answers. Slowly inhaling, the demon pressed the claw of his thumb against Nakita's skin at her wrist—and dragged the sharp nail down her arm. Blood welled, pooling sluggishly on top of the wound before trickling down.

"I am saving her life," the Warlord said very quietly.

Then he slashed his own palm until blood flowed freely and wrapped his hand around Nakita's forearm, pressing the wounds together.

Tōshirō's breath caught in his throat, and for a moment he couldn't move at all.

Power swirled around the Warlord, his subtle demonic aura tingling along Tōshirō's skin. The Warlord's reiatsu pulsed softly, calm and steady as a heartbeat. The bronze light brightened at the point of blood-to-blood contact between the demon and Nakita.

"Come now, Matsuo," he murmured. "I know you have not departed this world yet. You are far too stubborn."

His bronze reiatsu brightened, pulsed more clearly—and a tiny trickle of power slid into Nakita. Tōshirō could feel that alien, demonic power sink through her, gathering in her center.

It pulsed. Pulsed again. Brightened. The bronze tint, the demonic flavour, faded away, replaced with pure glow of human reiatsu.

Nakita's chest rose as she took a weak breath, and Tōshirō sank to his knees beside her. Long, agonizing minutes passed as the Warlord fed drop after drop of power into the dangerously weak human body before him, his patient, careful concentration never wavering. Tōshirō didn't move, didn't even shift so much as one limb even when his muscles threatened to cramp. He would not be responsible for distracting the Warlord from his delicate task.

Only once did his attention waver, just long enough for him to lift his gaze from Nakita to see Kurosaki and Saiu standing nearby, watching them. The human and demon stood so close together that their shoulders were almost touching, observing the Warlord's slow progress with expressions so near to identical that it chilled Tōshirō inside. He'd never seen Kurosaki look so closed in and emotionless, so detached and distant.

The Warlord was saving Nakita's life at that very moment. Saiu had saved them all, willing to sacrifice not only his life but also his soul to save a brother who seemed not to care for him at all. Demons though they were, they were capable of goodness, honour, even mercy.

But they were still creatures of darkness, beings so far removed from humanity that humans could never hope to understand them. Whatever capacity for decency they might possess, their essential nature would always prevail. Demons were evil.

And seeing Kurosaki standing so close to Saiu, almost intimately so, Tōshirō feared that Kurosaki had lost sight of that crucial fact. Kurosaki's greatest gift, and greatest curse, was his childish ability to see the good in everyone—even where good didn't truly exist. In the battle to save Seireitei, Saiu had acted out of self-preservation and probably some moderate dose of ambition as well. That Kurosaki might have come to perceive Saiu's actions as anything but that harsh truth . . .

Tōshirō feared for Kurosaki's soul as much now as he had when Kurosaki had been trapped as a part of Saichi.

But seeing that blank, emotionless look on Kurosaki's face, an expression so similar to Saiu's, a mask of detachment so—so _demonic_—made Tōshirō wonder if Kurosaki still had a human soul to save.

Or if more than the colour of his reiatsu had changed when Saiu possessed him.

* * *

**. o : O : o .**

* * *

Tōshirō couldn't remember the last time he'd been this tired. The sun had set hours ago, leaving the shattered remains of Seireitei swathed in darkness. He, for one, was relieved to have the destruction hidden from him, where he didn't have to think about it again until morning. But the many tasks demanding his attention could not be ignored as easily.

The wounded had been collected, demon bodies disposed off. Injuries had to be cleansed of demon taint and poison before they could be treated, meaning the healers of the 4th Division were beyond overtaxed, and the halls of the healing buildings were overflowing with bloodied, bandage-wrapped Shinigami. Search parties moved through the rubble, looking those too injured to call for help.

The Yokujin Captains had come and gone, taking all the remaining demons with them, along with the remnants of Nakita's Diviners. Of the twenty-four who had answered Nakita's summons, only six still lived. And of the six, only four had been capable of walking through Seireitei under their own power. The Diviners had fought well and fought hard—and died fast as the demons eliminated their greatest threat.

The third-seat Diviner Nozomi was the only one now who was still in Seireitei. Her Vice-Captain, the traitor Hayate, died before a healer could see to him—though Tōshirō privately suspected the healers had been in no hurry to treat his wounds, all things considered. Nakajima Seiko, Nakita's Slayer partner, was also still in the city, guarding Nakita's bedside until she awoke. Tōshirō hadn't seen her since he'd deposited her in Captain Uohana's capable hands, and at that point Nakita was still deeply unconscious. It would be weeks before she recovered her strength.

He'd have been happy to visit her—or even better, collapse into a nearby hospital bed—but with his responsibilities as a Captain, he hadn't had a moment to himself in hours. Besides organizing search parties for the wounded and work parties for gathering supplies and preparing for repairs to the city, he'd also been conferring with fellow Captains, reorganizing his squad to cover for lost Shinigami, offering direction to various Vice-Captains, and comforting those who'd lost friends and comrades.

Considering the ferocity of the battle, the number of the demons in the city, and the lack of preparedness of the Shinigami, their losses hadn't been too bad. They'd lost a number of the third, fourth, and fifth seats sent into battle, as well as several dozen lesser Shinigami who'd been caught up in the fights. The only casualty of the Captains and Vice-Captains had been Madarame Ikkaku—who'd turned out not to be a casualty at all.

No one had been counting on Inoue Orihime's abilities.

She'd arrived on the scene shortly after Saiu had teleported them away and Aranami had followed. She'd been able to heal Ikkaku back to life, and before that she'd been with Uohana, healing Kuchiki Byakuya before he could succumb to his wounds, and Nozomi as well. In fact, Inoue had healed dozens of injured before her friends among the Shinigami had forced her to stop and rest.

And to Inoue was where Tōshirō was headed right now. He wanted to collect both her and Nozomi, for there was another task he wanted completed immediately. It was time to find out just how much damage Kurosaki had taken during the possession—and to see what, if any of it, could be reversed, healed, or cleansed.

As he strode through the rubble-strewn streets back to the 4th Division, a sigh slipped through his lips and worry gnawed at his stomach. Before they could deal with Kurosaki, Tōshirō had to find a way to deal with their not-entirely-welcome ally. Nozomi and Nakajima weren't their only guests from Hell at present.

Saiu was still there too.

Tōshirō would have felt much better had the demon prince been safely back in Hell where he couldn't reach any of them, Kurosaki included. But after the other demon princes and the Warlord had departed, Kurosaki had insisted that Saiu remain in the relative safety of Soul Society until he recovered some of his strength. Returning to Hell in his weakened state could mean death for the prince, though Saiu himself didn't seem overly concerned by the possibility. But there was still some risk to going back, and as Kurosaki had pointed out implacably, the Prince Heir had forbidden Saiu from _returning_ to Soul Society. He hadn't said anything about needing to leave immediately.

Tōshirō had never seen anyone bully a demon through sheer pig-headed stubbornness before, let alone a prince. But Saiu had caved to his pressuring, and Kurosaki had gloated smugly about that victory most of the way back to Seireitei—until Saiu shoved him off the edge of a ravine. By the time Kurosaki had climbed out of the flooded bottom of the ravine, he'd been coated head-to-foot in mud, and the rest of their journey had been pleasantly quiet after that.

So Tōshirō had been forced to tow an unconscious Diviner, an irritable demon prince, and a sullen Shinigami-human back to Seireitei, only to encounter a city in chaos as the mysterious Yokujin Captains chased the last of the demons back through the world-tear into Hell. And since everyone seemed to just love dumping unpleasant jobs on him, Tōshirō had been handed the task of figuring out what to _do_ with their demon prince guest while he was there.

Of course, he almost hadn't had a chance to get that job, since they'd almost ended up at war all over again. Maybe taking Saiu into the middle of a gathering of Shinigami Captains had been a bad idea, but what else was he supposed to have done? It would have been just fine if Zaraki Kenpachi hadn't been there. The 11th Squad Captain had taken one look at Saiu—and announced that _here _was a challenge worthy of him!

And then he'd drawn his sword and attacked.

Tōshirō winced, almost missing a step. Could Zaraki have had any worse sense of timing? If Saiu had been in a poor mood before, that was nothing to the foul temper he went into at having a sword swung at his face. Almost faster than Tōshirō had been able to follow, Saiu had caught Zaraki's Zanpakutō—with _one_ _bare hand_—and, before anyone really realized what had happened, the demon prince had snapped the sword in two with a simple twist of his wrist.

Things might have gone downhill from there if Uohana hadn't walked in then and politely asked Zaraki to stand down. _Everyone_ did what Uohana said, especially when she asked in that scary-nice tone of voice. Except Saiu, which might have been a problem if Kurosaki hadn't been there. But somehow Kurosaki had talked the demon prince out of tearing a few holes in Zaraki, convincing Saiu to let it pass.

And about then everyone had decided that dealing with Saiu should be Tōshirō's problem. And since no one but Kurosaki seemed to be able to handle Saiu at all, that made _both_ of them Tōshirō's problem. It just wasn't fair.

But as he went over the confrontation again in his mind, unease slid through him. He didn't like what had happened. How Kurosaki had stepped between Zarakai and the livid demon prince, and how Saiu, even infuriated far past irritable and well into enraged, had backed down at Kurosaki's quiet insistence. What kind of game was Saiu playing? Did Kurosaki really have that kind of influence over the demon—or did Saiu want Kurosaki to _believe _he did?

And Saiu's influence over Kurosaki was nothing to shrug off either. While they'd waited for Tōshirō to sort out a few matters, the human and demon had moved like shadows of one another, neither getting very far before the other followed, seemingly without thought on either of their parts. It was disturbing.

With anxiety tightening his jaw, Tōshirō quickened his step. The sooner he could separate Kurosaki and Saiu, the sooner they could try to bring Kurosaki back to himself.

He located Inoue and Nozomi in the 4th Division hospital, only to be joined by Seiko before they got out of the building. They headed quickly back to the 10th Division as Seiko explained where he'd come from.

"Nakita kicked me out," he rumbled without preamble. "Said I wasn't allowed back in her room until I'd taken a bath—a thorough one."

"So she's awake?" Tōshirō asked, rather unnecessarily.

"And pretty peeved off with just about everyone, yeah," he said, sounding pleased that his partner was in such a poor temper. "I filled her in on everything that happened, and man, is she ticked about Prince Aranami walking away scot free like that. Ticks me off too."

"I don't really understand that," Inoue confessed. "Why didn't the Prince Heir believe Prince Saiu?"

"He probably did," Tōshirō said. "Saiu explained it on the way back to Seireitei—though it's not a complete explanation, and I'm absolutely certain there's some very important information he's not sharing. He says that the Prince Heir knows perfectly well that Aranami wants to kill him, but he won't call Aranami on it unless he has no choice. Apparently, the politics of the royal court in Hell are such that if you took Aranami out of the equation, there would be utter chaos."

"Prince Aranami is the Executioner," Nozomi told Inoue. "He enforces the Judge's—the Prince Heir's—judgements and decrees. Prince Aranami is known to be a merciless killer, and the rest of Hell is terrified of him. If he were imprisoned or killed, it would create a vacuum where the Executioner should be, and neither the Prince Heir nor Prince Saiu could easily take his place."

"Without the Executioner to curb the ambitious and rebellious among the demon lords, there would be something near to anarchy in Hell," Nakajima said. "The other two princes could subdue it eventually, but the Prince Heir doesn't want that. Things are working just fine the way they are."

"But if Prince Aranami is trying to kill him . . ." Inoue said hesitantly.

"Saiu seems to think that the Prince Heir doesn't believe Aranami will ever be able to kill him no matter how many times he might try," Tōshirō told them. "So he pretends to be ignorant of Aranami's plots, and will continue to turn a blind eye until something forces him to act."

"Something like Prince Saiu arranging for the Prince Heir to witness Prince Aranami's destruction spell?" Nozomi asked shrewdly.

Tōshirō nodded. "Exactly. From that, I got the impression that Saiu would prefer to force the Prince Heir's hand and see Aranami executed for his crimes. But his attempt failed, as did Aranami's. Neither of them got what they wanted."

"It's all so complicated," Inoue remarked, wrinkling her nose.

Tōshirō let out a quiet, humourless laugh. "And that's without considering that the Prince Heir knows exactly what Prince Saiu wants, and uses that to his advantage. He has one brother trying to assassinate him and the other trying to protect him, both for their own reasons—of which he is also aware. So he's letting them both fight it out behind his back—except I'm betting he knows _exactly_ what's going on every time they clash. It's enough to make the politics in the Gotei 13 look like a child's game."

"And enough to make the most dysfunctional human family look tame," Nozomi added.

"But doesn't that mean Aranami is going to try to kill the Prince Heir again?" Inoue asked.

"Yes," Tōshirō replied, "but as Saiu pointed out to me, probably not in our lifetimes. They're thousands of years old and have all the time in the world to play out their games. I got the sense that Aranami has been plotting against the Prince Heir for centuries, and Saiu has been thwarting his attempts for just as long." He pressed his lips together for a moment. "But Saiu did admit that this was by the far the closest Aranami has ever come to succeeding, and the first time Saiu has had to so blatantly and irrevocably place himself between Aranami and his goals."

"Which means the power balance between those two has changed now," Nakajima said gruffly. "So their next 'game' will probably be a lot different from all the preceding ones."

Silence fell between them as they contemplated all the ways that could spell bad news for the other worlds.

When they reached the 10th Division, Tōshirō got about three steps inside before a voice hailed him.

"Captain!" Rangiku called, sweeping around a corner and bearing down on him like an angry bear. "Where have you been? I've had to manage everything while you were off cavorting around the city! Do you know how much _work_ I've had to do?"

"_Cavorting_? Do you even know what that means?" He shook his head. "And work is what you're supposed to do, so quit complaining." He cut her off before she could retort. "Matsumoto, are you feeling charming tonight?"

Her mouth opened soundlessly, her face going blank. "What?"

"Charming. Are you up to being your usual charming self for the next few minutes. It's a simple question."

She blinked at him—then beamed. "I'm _always_ charming, Captain!"

"Good," he said. "Because I need you to charm a demon prince away from Kurosaki without getting us all killed."

Her smile dimmed. "Oh. That might be a little trickier. Um."

"What's the problem?" he snapped.

"Well . . . the demon prince is kind of scary, you know."

Tōshirō huffed and rolled his eyes. "Grow a backbone, would you? Let's go."

He strode down the hall, the other three following silently. He'd left Kurosaki and Saiu in his office for a lack of any better place to put them. That had been several hours ago, and he hadn't had a chance to check on them since—so he could only hope that they were still there.

He rounded a corner, seeing the office door closed at the end of the hall. Was that a good sign? He quickened his pace—and a sudden furious howl burst from the office.

"Ichigo!" Inoue cried in alarm.

Tōshirō launched himself down the hall in one bound and flung the door open.

"I don't believe it!" Kurosaki yelled, flailing his arms in the air. "It's impossible! You're cheating!"

Then Kurosaki noticed him, straightening and frowning at Tōshirō. Tōshirō blinked back at them, lost for words. Kurosaki was standing in front of the low table in the office, playing cards scattered haphazardly across its surface. Saiu reclined on the sofa, peering at them over a hand of cards.

"What's wrong?" Tōshirō finally asked as the others crowded into the doorway behind him.

Kurosaki threw his arms up in the air and shot the demon prince a furious glare. "He keeps winning! I just _taught_ him the damn game and he's beat me every time! _Cheater!_" he shot at Saiu.

Saiu's expression was mostly hidden behind the fan of cards he held in front of his face, only his eyes visible above them. "It's not a challenging game, Ichigo," he replied calmly.

"What are you playing?" Inoue asked curiously from behind Tōshirō.

Kurosaki scowled. "Go Fish," he mumbled.

Rangiku snickered.

"What?" Kurosaki said defensively. "He said he'd never played cards before, so I figured we'd start with something simple!"

Saiu rolled his eyes, finally casting his hand onto the table. "It _is_ simple," he agreed so reasonably that Kurosaki's glower tripled in strength.

Tōshirō finally moved into the room, feeling almost like he was stepping onto a battlefield. Kurosaki eyed him for a moment, then flopped onto the sofa across from Saiu, his eyebrows raised questioningly.

Nozomi strode past Tōshirō fearlessly, stopping in front of Kurosaki and planting her hands on her curvaceous hips.

"Well," she said, flipping her blond hair over one shoulder. "Do you have idea how damaged you are right now, Kurosaki?"

Kurosaki blinked. "Uh."

"Your soul looks like a shrivelled glimmer of a normal soul. You're _dripping_ with demon taint. Can't you feel it?"

His eyes widened. "Erm, not really, no."

When Kurosaki had come back from Hell after being kidnapped by demons, he'd been thoroughly tainted—and had been drowning in listless depression. Why wasn't the taint bothering him this time? One more thing for Tōshirō to worry about.

"How are you feeling, Ichigo?" Inoue asked gently, moving to sit beside Kurosaki on the sofa. "Hitsugaya told us . . . what happened."

Kurosaki's gaze darted around the room as though he were looking for an escape route. "I'm fine. Well, pretty much fine. And getting better. It was a little weird right after . . . but I'm okay."

Tōshirō wasn't convinced, and neither, it appeared, was Nozomi. She was staring at Kurosaki with narrowed eyes and abnormally dilated pupils as she examined him more thoroughly with her Diviner's Sight.

"Hmph," she said finally. "You are most definitely not okay. Your soul . . ." Her brow wrinkled with worry and uncertainty. "I'd better start the cleansing now."

Through all this, Saiu watched silently, his dark eyes unfathomable. Tōshirō had expected the demon to interfere before now—surely he didn't _want_ Kurosaki cleansed of demon taint?

He cleared his throat quietly. "Prince Saiu," he said respectfully, "perhaps you would like to accompany Matsumoto and I while Nozomi begins the healing. We've prepared a room for you."

Rangiku stepped up beside him, smiling charismatically at the demon prince. "I'm sure you must be tired after all that happened today," she said smoothly. "I imagine Ichigo will be heading to his bed as soon as he's healed too. We want you to be comfortable while you stay here—it's thanks to you we're all still alive, after all!"

Saiu considered them for a moment, then rose to his feet. As he drifted around the sofa, his movements slow and flowing with inhuman grace, Rangiku went very still—as though she was really seeing the demon prince for the first time. Or maybe seeing something besides a frightening monster for the first time.

"Oh," she breathed, and Saiu's gaze seemed almost to caress her, his eyes darkening with an unmistakable hunger.

"I would be pleased," he said in low croon, "to find some small comfort in this place."

"_Saiu!_" Kurosaki barked suddenly. "Don't even think about it!"

The demon kept his gaze on Rangiku for a long moment more before turning toward Kurosaki, his upper lip curling in a silent snarl that revealed pointed teeth. Kurosaki glared back.

"I invited you to stay, so if you start attacking people, I'm going to be in a hell of a lot of trouble," he told Saiu sternly.

The demon's eyes drifted back to Rangiku. She seemed to be frozen in place, her eyes glassy and her cheeks flushed.

"I did not plan to _attack_ her," Saiu murmured. Rangiku leaned forward as though she was a breath away from closing the distance between her and the demon. Tōshirō grabbed her elbow, pulling her back.

"Damn it!" Kurosaki swore. "You and pure souls. You're worse than a drug addict!" He scowled. "You'd better stay here where I can keep an eye on you—and would you leave her alone already?"

Saiu let out a long sigh and turned away from Rangiku. She stood for a moment, then seemed to shudder, pulling in a sharp breath like she was waking up from a deep sleep. She gave her head a little shake, looking scared—and a little disappointed.

Bringing Rangiku had obviously been a major miscalculation on his part.

Tōshirō stepped in front of his Vice-Captain. "I think I should accompany Prince Saiu to his room instead, where he can rest in solitude. Perhaps it would be best to remove him from any . . . temptation." And the last thing he wanted was Saiu and Kurosaki spending any more time in one another's company.

Kurosaki pulled a face, then shrugged. "I guess you can choose, Saiu."

"How kind of you to offer your permission, Ichigo," the demon replied acidly. He surveyed the occupants of the room, all of whom watched him with varying degrees of wariness—except for Kurosaki, of course. Finally, Saiu shrugged elegantly. "I will accompany Hitsugaya then."

Tōshirō shooed Rangiku over to Nozomi, allowing the demon prince to precede him out of the room. He led Saiu through the quiet back halls of his Division to the furthest branch of guest rooms. Stopping in front of the door of their largest suite, he slid the door open and looked expectantly at Saiu.

The demon returned his stare, unmoving. After a long, terse moment, he tipped his head to one side.

"Do not worry so, Shinigami," Saiu murmured. "Ichigo and I have a bargain still in play—and demons honour our bargains. I will not harm him as you fear."

"You've already harmed him," Tōshirō said sharply. "Perhaps irreparably. Even if it was necessary at the time, I won't allow him to be put in any more danger after the sacrifices he's already made."

Saiu's expression smoothed to become utterly emotionless, and the red in his eyes suddenly gleamed brighter. Tōshirō's instincts screamed danger, and he froze, caught in a sudden spiral of fear.

In the silence that stretched between them, the only sound was that of Tōshirō's heart pounding in his ears.

"Do not forget," Saiu hissed, menace clinging to him like shadows, "that Ichigo is not the only one who made sacrifices this day."

Then the demon prince slipped into the room and slid the door shut behind him. And it was only then that Tōshirō realized that none of them had thought to ask Saiu if _he_ needed to be healed too. If a demon had a soul that could be healed in the same way as a human's.

He stepped away from the door, then quickly strode back down the hall, his blood still whipping through his veins with unspent adrenaline. He had no doubt that Saiu had come very close to killing him just then—and that he'd brought it on himself. After all, Saiu had seemed to be in _worse_ shape than Kurosaki immediately after the possession—but had anyone shown the slightest concern for his wellbeing? The only person who gave a damn about Saiu was Kurosaki.

Saiu was a demon. But he was also their ally, perhaps even their saviour. Tōshirō couldn't reconcile the two enough to know what to do—but he did know that he'd rather face another horde of demons than go back and knock on Saiu's door.

He'd have a better chance of surviving the demon horde.

* * *

**. x : X : x .**

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**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Writer's block _sucks_. A lot.

So I realized I made a mistake last chapter, by ending with the cliff-hanger—which gave the impression that something exciting or epic was going to happen this chapter. I didn't actually have anything super exciting (i.e. a battle) planned, but I didn't want to disappoint. So I agonized over it for a couple weeks, thoroughly sinking myself into writer's block which then lasted several more weeks.

I eventually reached the conclusion that I would just have to disappoint any expectations and write what I'd originally planned. About all I can offer is that it's _extra_ long, so hopefully that makes up for the wait and the lack of epicness.

Just a heads up: The story is winding down now. It's been an awesome journey, and thanks so much to everyone who's been reading it! Once I tackle the majority of the loose ends, _Devil's Smile _will come to a close. Just a few more chapters left!

For the Bleach manga readers: I'd love to comment, but all I can think to say about the last few chapters is "! ! !".


	38. Chapter 38

**Disclaimer: **Bleach does not belong to me, but Nakita, Seiko, Saiu, Shoku, Aranami, Nozomi, Hayate, Suisei, Chizome, Teuchi, Moesakaru, Dokugumo, Saichi, and Shiose do.

* * *

**DEVIL'S SMILE**

* * *

**Chapter 38**

* * *

Ichigo stared at the door in front of him, his eyes tracing the panels of wood without really seeing them. He slowly lifted one hand and touched his fingertips to the smooth surface.

Anxiety churned through him, and he closed his eyes. With his attention focused inward, the changed landscape of his mind and soul was only too obvious. His inner self had become unfamiliar, almost unrecognizable since his short but life-altering time as Saichi. Saichi's thoughts and perceptions were so clear in his memory, but it was more than just an intimate look into a stranger's head. Ichigo felt like he now had two possible futures: he could cling to the old Ichigo who had never known the dark psyche of a demon, or he could open his mind to Saichi's unique perspective, a more clear and grounded vision that comprehended all shades of good and evil.

Either way, he lost something. Could he sacrifice the completely human, innocent Ichigo who had so naively categorized the whole world in black and white? Should he reject the dark, clear sight of Saichi and his ruthless, fearless drive for victory? Did he even have a choice?

It had taken him too long to get away from Nozomi and Orihime. The third seat Diviner had cast spell after spell to cleanse his body and soul of demon taint, but none of the Kidō she could cast had any effect. She'd finally given up, telling Ichigo that he would have to let the contamination run its course. His body would either purge it naturally or it wouldn't. There was nothing she could do.

He'd suspected as much from the start because of his past experience with being tainted. He'd been able to _feel_ the effects that time. This time, even now, he could feel that he was _different_ from before, but he didn't feel tainted. He'd been changed from the inside out, not infected by the poisons of Hell or a demon-inflicted wound. But how deep those changes went, and what they meant for the future of his mind and soul . . . Only time would provide any answers.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He'd known he was taking a risk when he'd let Saiu possess him, but he'd never suspected he would be left in such inner turmoil after the fact. But then, he hadn't expected to survive. He wondered for a brief moment if it would have counted as survival had it been Saichi, and not Ichigo and Saiu, who'd walked away from the battlefield. Knowing how close it had come to that result, the very thought made him cringe, and he quickly abandoned it.

But either way, he wasn't the same person he'd been before Saichi. Tōshirō thought he needed healing. Nozomi thought he needed time to recover. Orihime had been quietly distraught, unable to heal him any more than Nozomi and hurt by his refusal to talk to her about his ordeal. It had been all he could do not to jump to his feet and run from the room. Their confusion and concern was suffocating. Only by pleading exhaustion had he been able to escape their company.

He opened his eyes and again stared at the door in front of him. His friends didn't understand what had happened to him. They were thinking he was injured, and all he had to do was get better somehow. But he wasn't going to get better. He was _changed_, and that couldn't be undone. It was exactly the same as when his Inner Hollow had first come to exist inside him. It could never be reversed.

But the others didn't understand, and their anxious need to _fix_ him grated on his nerves and made him feel tainted in a way that had nothing to do with demons. So he'd left them to their worries and wandered the empty halls instead, trying to come to grips with his changed self. And failing miserably.

There was only one person who could possibly appreciate what Ichigo was going through—and he was right on the other side of the door.

Exhaling sharply, Ichigo rapped his knuckles on the door, then slid it open without waiting for a reply.

The room was small but elegant, the best guest room available in the 10th Squad barracks. It was probably well below the standards of its current occupant, but Ichigo was impressed by the delicate painted screens lining the walls, the perfectly woven tatami mats covering the floor, and the low, glossy wooden table in the center, surrounded by flat silk cushions. An arched doorway led to sleeping quarters, and since the main room was empty, Ichigo padded across it and peered around the doorway.

Saiu sat beside the open sliding door that led to a small, private rock garden, one forearm propped on his raised knee. The room was bathed in soft shadows, the only light coming from a single oil lamp in the far corner. Saiu's dark clothes and hair seemed to fade into nothing, leaving the pale oval of his face as the only clearly visible thing in the room.

As Ichigo paused in the doorway, Saiu's midnight-red eyes lifted from the garden to rest on him.

"I was beginning to wonder if you would stand outside my door all night," the demon prince murmured, his melodic voice blending with the darkness.

Ichigo pulled a face. He should have known Saiu would sense him as soon as he came near.

"How are you doing?" he asked, moving a few more steps into the room.

When he and Saiu had broken apart from Saichi, they'd split Saichi's reiryoku in half. It had been a big reduction for Ichigo and a huge improvement for Saiu. But even with the reiryoku increase, Saiu was still functioning at a fraction of his usual strength. Hence why Ichigo had insisted that Saiu camp out in the relative safety of Soul Society instead of going back home to Hell.

Saiu shrugged gracefully. "I am well enough. I won't be able to fully recover my power until I return to my vassals in Hell."

Ichigo hesitated a moment longer, then crossed the room and sank down across from Saiu, the length of the sliding doors between them. He leaned back against the wall behind him.

"Right," he replied. Saiu's vassals would—willingly or not—be required to donate their own power to Saiu. His depleted power levels couldn't be comfortable, and considering the close call with Rangiku earlier, Ichigo was glad that Tōshirō had cleared this wing of the building of all Shinigami.

"You don't, uh . . ." He swallowed nervously, darting a glance at the demon before looking away. "You don't need more reiatsu, do you?" He scrubbed a hand through his hair, blinking at the painted scroll hanging on the wall beside Saiu. "I mean, if you're having trouble . . . I guess I could—I mean, only if you need, er . . ." For some strange reason, he felt a blush rise in his cheeks.

Saiu was quiet for a moment. "Would I be mistaken in the understanding that you are offering to let me draw some of your reiatsu?" he asked very softly.

"Um." Ichigo risked a glance at Saiu and was surprised to see the intent way the demon watched him. His spine prickled nervously. "Uh, yeah, I guess. If you need it."

Saiu's lips curved slightly in what might have been a very faint smile before he looked back at the garden. "I am not in need of reiatsu," he murmured. A long pause. "But your offer is . . . appreciated, Ichigo."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, an easy quiet that Ichigo found surprisingly restful. He relaxed back against the wall and tapped his fingers on one knee. Saiu's presence was comforting; he'd felt disconcertingly incomplete during the hours they'd been apart. Another side-effect of possession, no doubt.

"Saiu?" He fidgeted briefly. "I was wondering . . ." He pressed his lips together, uncertain how to continue.

"You are more awkward than usual tonight, Ichigo," Saiu commented. "I am fairly certain that I won't rip out your tongue for whatever you might say." A tilt of his head. "No promises though."

Ichigo interpreted that as a 'just spit it out already'. Even though they'd spent most of the evening together in Tōshirō's office, neither of them had mentioned the possession even once. He wasn't sure if he wanted to bring it up now. It was just too weird.

He sighed. "You told Aranami that for the possession you took precautions against . . . contamination?"

Saiu quirked his lips unhappily. "I lied."

"I figured as much," Ichigo said with another heavy sigh. "So it . . . affected you?"

Saiu's expression smoothed to become unreadable, his gaze drifting away from Ichigo. After a moment, he closed his eyes, holding perfectly still, then nodded slowly.

Ichigo let his breath out in a rush. "That bad?" he asked softly.

Saiu rolled his shoulders in a sort of shrug, avoiding Ichigo's gaze. Silence blanketed them again as Ichigo absorbed Saiu's obvious discomfort, recognizing the subtle signs of defensiveness. Saiu felt vulnerable—and from Saiu, with such unshakable confidence that it bordered on arrogance, that was something indeed. Ichigo didn't like it. For some reason, he'd expected Saiu to have dealt with any emotional upheaval and be back to normal already.

"It's a pretty weird feeling," he remarked in the most offhand tone he could manage. "I guess neither of us will ever be quite the same again, huh?"

"Probably not," Saiu agreed in a near whisper. He studied his own hands, unsheathing and retracting his dark claws. "I believe the feeling of . . . of dual personalities will soon fade, but in the intervening time, we are both likely to absorb some character traits of—of the persona we shared."

By persona he meant Saichi, but apparently he didn't want to name the person they'd been together. Ichigo couldn't blame him. It was downright freaky just thinking about it. At least, he noted optimistically, his and Saiu's reiatsu were very slowly shifting back their normal colours. Maybe that meant everything else would gradually revert to normal too.

"Well, it could be worse, right?" he said, trying to lighten the mood. "We could have been stuck like that."

Saiu snorted quietly, but there was something close to desperation in the sound.

"Saiu?" he asked.

Saiu darted a look at Ichigo before dropping his gaze to his hands again. Ichigo's breath caught at the haunted, almost tormented look in the demon's eyes.

"Saiu?" he asked again, trying not to sound anxious. "What's wrong? What it is?"

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not," he snapped. "Just tell me what's the matter, would you? It's not like there's anyone else you can talk to about it."

Saiu's eyes snapped up to Ichigo's, wide and startled, an almost wounded look hidden in his gaze. Ichigo sucked in a sharp breath and mentally kicked himself.

"I didn't mean it like that," he said quickly. Way to make Saiu feel like crap by pointing out how alone he was—what with his brothers being total assholes and every other demon being scared shitless of their prince. "I just meant no one else is going to understand."

Saiu's expression shifted again, another emotional leap that left Ichigo in the dust. Now the demon looked angry and disgusted—and Ichigo realized that the demon was directing both those emotions at himself.

"Look at me," Saiu snarled, his hands clenching into fists. "Look at what I've become. Aranami was right. I have destroyed myself more thoroughly than he ever could have."

"Whoa, what?" Ichigo exclaimed, jerking upright and leaning forward. "What are you talking about? What's wrong?"

"_Loneliness_." Saiu spat the word like it was the foulest profanity. "What is loneliness? Demons do not feel alone. We are engineered to exist singularly. We are emotionally independent in every sense, beyond a human's understanding of the concept. We do not feel loneliness. We cannot even comprehend it."

Ichigo nodded slowly. "I know. I get it . . . because Saichi got it," he finished quietly.

Saiu rocked his head back and forth like he was trying with all his might to deny reality. "You shouldn't understand a demon's independence because you're human, but you do because of the possession. And I—" he made a small, angry sound, "I now understand loneliness for the same reason."

He lifted haunted eyes to Ichigo. "I understand it. I _feel_ it. I—feel—alone." Horror lit his gaze as he forced the words out. "I shouldn't. It's _wrong_." He clamped his hands on either side of his head, pulling both knees up to his chest. "I don't want this. _I don't want to feel this._"

Ichigo shot to his feet and strode over to Saiu. He dropped down on his knees beside the demon and wrapped his hands around Saiu's wrists.

"Come on, Saiu. Calm down." He pried Saiu's hands away from his face—well, Saiu let him pry his hands away. Ichigo couldn't have budged the demon if he'd been determined not to move. "Listen to me, okay?"

When Saiu was focused on his face, Ichigo went on. "You said yourself that the whole dual personality thing will fade, so the human emotions should fade for you too. So don't get bent out of shape yet, okay?"

Saiu shook his head, panic creeping back into his eyes. "I don't want to feel this. It's wrong. It's unnatural."

Ichigo felt sympathy roll over him. Damn. He'd thought he had it bad? Saiu had gone from living contentedly in emotional isolation to suddenly feeling emotional connections—or the potential for emotional connections—where nothing of the sort had ever existed before. Saiu could reject that potential, but he couldn't undo the knowledge of those connections. A door had been opened for him where no door had been before, and even if he never set foot through that door, it would always, always be there now. He would always be aware on some level of the possibility of forming emotional bonds, an awareness that no other demon possessed because demons as a race were incapable of those kinds of relationships.

Shared horror caught in his throat as Ichigo realized that if Saiu's human ability to feel loneliness never faded, if it stayed with him for life . . . Saiu would have to endure the pain of absolute seclusion for the rest of his existence, because there was no other demon he could connect with, and there never would be.

Ichigo swallowed hard, pushing the thought away, and loosened his grip on Saiu's wrists.

"It'll go away," he assured Saiu, though he wasn't actually sure it would. "And besides, you shouldn't be feeling alone because you're not. I'm right here, aren't I?"

Confusion filled Saiu's eyes. "I don't understand."

Ichigo huffed a breath. Letting go of Saiu's wrists, he turned and sat beside Saiu, his back to the wall and their shoulders touching.

"Do you know why humans hug and stuff? Sometimes we feel alone even when we're surrounded by people we care about, but a hug or whatever makes us feel better. Like proof that we have no reason to worry about anything, right?"

"A physical affirmation of an intangible bond?"

"Yeah, exactly. So—if you want—I'll sit here as long as you need until you go back to being all demony and antisocial."

Saiu thought it over, then sighed. "Humans are weak," he commented in a put-out kind of way, but he seemed calmer.

Ichigo rolled his eyes, bumping his shoulder against Saiu's. "There are some advantages to the whole relationships thing, you know."

"Such as?"

"Well . . . they're fulfilling. You feel better when you're with your friends. And there's trust too. It's something pretty special when you can trust another person completely, and never have to be afraid that they'll hurt you. When you have real friends, you know you can count on them, no matter what."

Saiu considered that for a several long minutes. "In theory, perhaps. But how can you _truly_ trust another being? Humans betray one another all the time. In the end, selfishness dictates everyone's actions."

"I suppose. But every once in a while, you find someone you really can trust, and that makes it worth the risk."

Saiu looked dubious, but let it drop. Instead, he said, "If I am being inundated with distinctly human impulses, I must assume you are contending with similarly demonic turns of thought?"

"Pretty much, yeah." He scrunched his face up. "It's creepy, but I guess it's not that huge a deal to me because I've already been through something similar with my Hollow transformation."

Indeed, the more he thought about that comparison, the better he felt about Saichi's perceptions still floating around in his head. If he could control the unbridled evil of his inner Hollow, then he could deal with any random demonic whims that might linger as a result of the possession. And if he was feeling unreasonably aggressive and just a little vicious at the first sign of challenge from another person, well, he could deal with that. And if he found he was more analytic and calculating, and seemed to have absorbed Saichi's—or maybe it was Saiu's—levelheaded immunity to pressure, well, maybe that was a good thing. Saiu, other the other hand, would probably have more trouble, having suddenly been introduced to a whole new set of emotions that demons weren't ever meant to experience.

Ichigo glanced over to see the demon in question studying him, his expression thoughtful.

"Your soul has changed," Saiu said. "I can sense a touch of demonic power in you now. I wonder if that will pass."

Anxiety fluttered through Ichigo before he discarded it. No point in worrying over something out of his control. For a moment he was surprised at how quickly he'd brought his fear under control—yet another ability he could thank Saichi for. Just how much had he'd carried with him from the possession?

Not wanting to think about it, he smirked at Saiu. "So does that mean I'm not a pure soul anymore? That must be a relief for you, since I can't be nearly as 'tempting' now as I was before."

Saiu's lips curved up in a small smile, and he suddenly shifted, angling toward Ichigo and pressing against his side. The demon leaned in until his nose just brushed the skin under Ichigo's jaw.

Ichigo's face blanked and he went rigid.

Saiu inhaled deeply. "Hmm," he murmured. "You no longer smell quite so lusciously pure as you did when we first met . . . but I like your new scent. Less heady, more balanced."

"That's—nice," Ichigo choked out. "Would you mind—"

Saiu exhaled slowly, his breath warm on Ichigo's skin. Ichigo's mouth went dry, and he forgot to finish his sentence. Frantically, he checked his reiastu and then Saiu's, trying to determine if Saiu was using his aura to mess with him. But he couldn't sense anything out of place.

Unease spun in his head, awkward embarrassment making his face hot. He sat stiffly, unmoving as Saiu leaned into him, their faces indecently close. He wanted nothing more than to push Saiu off him—but at the same time, Saiu's closeness was almost comforting, a physical reunion of the mental intimacy they had shared during the possession. Why should he feel awkward about this when he and Saiu had shared one body in the most literal sense possible?

Conflicting responses paralyzed him, and he had no idea how to react. Saiu had settled against him and didn't seem inclined to move, so Ichigo decided the best course was to ignore their inappropriate nearness.

"Um." He cleared his throat. "Uh, so have you been feeling anything else human?"

Saiu made a soft, indecipherable noise and tilted his head. The tip of his nose touched Ichigo's neck, and he flinched.

"Yes," Saiu finally answered in a near sigh. "Did you know all demons are sadists to some degree? We achieve fulfillment not through close relationships but through the urge to dominate, control, or enslave those weaker than us. I should at the very least want to force you into submission right now."

Alarm made Ichigo's eyes widen. Before he could react, Saiu went on.

"And yet, for no discernable reason I can determine, I would prefer not to hurt you. Is that not strange?"

"Er, yeah. Very—very strange." The last word came out sounding strangled as Saiu's mouth brushed the side of Ichigo's neck under his ear, a touch so light it was almost unnoticeable—except Ichigo _definitely_ noticed it.

"Do you _mind_?" he snapped furiously. "I'm not some goddamned toy!" He started to shove Saiu off him.

Saiu chuckled, a soft, husky sound, and shifted just far enough that Ichigo decided not to throw the demon prince across the room.

He appraised Ichigo with dark, amused eyes. "Why do you resist me so, Ichigo? It's foolish to deny yourself like this."

"Deny _myself_? I'm not denying anything except your serious personal space issues."

Saiu let out a quiet sigh. "Humans," he remarked scathingly. "How can you live in such denial?"

"I am _not _in denial."

A dangerous sort of gleam came into Saiu's eyes. "I could prove you wrong, Ichigo," he purred.

Ichigo met Saiu's dark, luminous eyes, and nervousness swept down his spine like icy fingers. He knew that look; memories of his first encounter with Saiu swept through him, and he realized he was suddenly on very treacherous footing. Saiu's mood had abruptly shifted—and Ichigo didn't know what was safe anymore. He stood, the motion jerky, and gave Saiu a warning glare.

"Whatever you're going on about, leave me out of it." He strode away, intending to claim a spot to sit with, preferably, the full length of the room between them. It seemed best to give Saiu a little time and space to recover his usual equilibrium.

But instead of remaining where he was, Saiu flowed to his feet in Ichigo's wake, his movements liquid and predatory. Ichigo had only a moment to wonder what to do before Saiu captured his arm in one clawed hand—and with an almost lazy pull, jerked Ichigo off his feet and sent him tumbling to the floor.

"What the hell?" Ichigo yelled, rolling back to his feet. "Saiu, what do you—"

The demon grabbed the front of his kosode and threw him into the wall.

The breath whooshed out of Ichigo's lungs from the impact, and as he bounced off the wall, Saiu caught his shoulders—and kicked his feet out so he slammed to the floor on his back. Saiu came down on top of him, and before Ichigo could even figure out what was going on, Saiu had him pinned.

"What are you doing?" he exclaimed in anger, writhing helplessly.

Saiu regarded him expressionlessly, his hands pinning Ichigo's wrists just above his head with a grip that hurt. The demon was sitting on his hips, his feet hooked on Ichigo's thighs to keep his legs pinned too. He could barely wriggle.

"If I have to deal with all these weak, foolish human emotions I acquired from you," Saiu said calmly, "then by the deep darkness, you can deal with your own as well."

"Huh?" Ichigo asked blankly, some of his anger fading as confusion replaced it.

Saiu's eyes brightened from almost black to a gleaming blood-red. "Are you afraid of me, Ichigo?"

"No," Ichigo snorted, refusing to be intimidated and trying hard not to think about the fact that he was totally powerless right then. "I sort of got over that back when I shoved your demon prince ass into a mud puddle, remember?"

With a soft exhale, Saiu's lips curved into a small, deadly smile. "Are you quite certain, Ichigo?" he whispered.

Ichigo opened his mouth to retort—and froze when the room seemed to darken as cold, merciless power filled it, making the air thick and heavy. The seductive pull of Saiu's aura whispered across his senses, and the shadows seemed to come to life, dancing on the edges of his vision.

His breath caught in his throat—and an undeniable thrill of fear pulsed through him.

But behind the fear came a rush of adrenaline. Ichigo bared his teeth at Saiu. "Yeah," he growled, "I'm certain. Now get the fuck off me."

Saiu smiled, inexplicably pleased, and the heavy wash of threat in the air lessened, fading. "So you see, Ichigo," he continued as though nothing had happened, "I can _make_ you fear me—if only for a moment—but you do not fear me always. Haven't you wondered why?"

"What's your point?" he shot back, testing Saiu's iron grip on his wrists.

The demon ignored his retort. "Tell me, Ichigo. Tell me of the women in your life." A hint of white fangs showed in his smile. "Tell me why you feel no passion for them."

"What?" Ichigo yelped, caught completely off guard by the question. He threw all his strength into dislodging Saiu, but the demon pinned him even more ruthlessly. "What are you—mind your own business!"

"Shall I answer for you?" Saiu asked implacably. "Let us speak of Inoue Orihime. She is beautiful, is she not? Kind, caring, gentle. All qualities that human men cherish in their women. You care for her, Ichigo, perhaps even love her. But passion? Attraction? Lust?" The demon smiled knowingly. "No."

"Shut up," Ichigo snarled, feeling his cheeks heat with a blush. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I?" Saiu said quietly. "Tell me of Kuchiki Rukia then, Ichigo. She is much like you. Fiery and stubborn, loyal and compassionate. She is your closest friend, isn't she? But do you desire her? Perhaps when you first met—but now? No, you do not."

Ichigo stared up at Saiu, furious but lost for words.

Saiu leaned down until their faces were very close. "I will tell you why," he said in a murmur, "so you can no longer deny your own nature. Orihime, so kind and caring, is weak. She is soft and passive. She has no fire. Could she stand in the face your temper, your strength, your intensity? She can love you until her heart bursts, but you will never desire her.

"Rukia is strong in her own right, determined and relentless. She was so very attractive at first, was she not? But then you surpassed her, and she can no more capture your lust than Orihime. Do you see now, Ichigo?"

He rocked head back and forth, mute in the face of truths he'd never acknowledged about himself before.

"You, Ichigo, are powerful, aggressive, dominant. You are fierce in battle, unrelenting until victory. How could you ever be drawn to someone weaker than you? How can you feel attraction for one who cannot match your power, your aggression, your dominance? When you push,"—he pressed Ichigo into the floor—"you want to be pushed back. You _need_ it. Only one who could hold his own against you, only one who is at the _least_ your equal, could command your passion—and that is why you will never desire the weak women in your life."

"No," Ichigo whispered. "You're wrong."

"So I ask you again, Ichigo, why don't you fear me?" Saiu looked down on him, his eyes unreadable, his expression expectant. "Anyone in your position right now would fear for his life and his soul, but you do not. Why?"

Ichigo stared up at Saiu, knowing the demon wouldn't release him without an answer—an answer Saiu already seemed to know. Ichigo struggled to get his thoughts in order. He _was_ afraid of Saiu—wasn't he?

No. Saiu could give him a bit of scare—like the one just minutes before—but it was the same kind of thrill as skydiving. Risk, danger, but not an imminent threat of death. A harmless, addictive rush of adrenaline. Was that why he so enjoyed teasing and taunting Saiu, provoking that dangerous, deadly temper as far as he dared? But if he didn't fear Saiu, what did that mean? And what did it have to do with him supposedly not being attracted to Orihime or Rukia because they were weaker than him?

He didn't get it. It didn't make sense. Saiu was just messing with his head. What did a _demon_ know of how his human mind worked anyway?

"Get off me," he said flatly.

Saiu met his glare without emotion. "So stubborn," he sighed. "I will tell you one more truth then, Ichigo—one about myself instead of you. Do you recall the effects of my aura from our first encounter?"

Ichigo nodded tersely, still glowering.

"My aura overwhelms the willpower of my victims, swallowing their wants and needs, leaving them with nothing but the desire to obey _my_ will instead." His stare bored into Ichigo—and he suddenly smiled a satisfied little smile. "That is _all _it does. While it may make my prey feel drawn to me, it does not cause them to be suddenly overwhelmed with longing for me—_unless_ some part of them already desired me."

He leaned a little closer, until all Ichigo could see were the demon's red eyes and the dark strands of his hair that slid from his shoulders to fall like curtains on either side of their faces.

His voice lowered to a near whisper. "You yourself saw how Matsumoto Rangiku responded to me. You, Ichigo, responded even more strongly—but Hitsugaya, when under my aura, didn't not respond that way at all. _There_ is the answer as to why you do not properly fear me."

Then the demon rolled off him, and before Ichigo could gather his wits, Saiu was once again reclined beside the door to the garden, staring out at the dark night.

Emotions charged through his head, anger and fear and frantic denial. Ichigo could only be grateful that his newfound control allowed him to slide the rampant emotions to the back of his mind. Instead of jumping up and storming from the room, he slowly sat up, discovering that he was sprawled half across Saiu's bed. Shuffling over until his back was against the wall, the soft futon under him, he folded his arms over his chest and tried to regain his composure.

Rejection of the demon's words swirled like a fog through his mind. Saiu thought—Saiu thought that Ichigo wasn't afraid of the demon's power because he was _attracted_ to it instead? No freaking way. Saiu was wrong—Ichigo wasn't in denial about anything! He had to admit that he'd felt moments of magnetism between him and Saiu, as though Saiu had his own personal gravitational pull—but that didn't make Ichigo _desire_ him. It was just the demon's creepy demonic allure.

"Why don't you just use your aura then?" he asked after several minutes passed in heavy silence. His voice came out flat and angry. "If you want me, you could force me. I couldn't stop you."

"I don't want to force you," Saiu replied quietly, his eyes still on the dark garden. "I want you to recognize a truth about yourself. And when you do . . ." His lips curved up in a ghost of a smile as his eyes swept over Ichigo. "When you do, _you_ will come to _me_—and I will enjoy that far more."

Ichigo snorted. "Don't hold your breath."

Saiu merely cast him a half-amused, half-exasperated look and returned to gazing at the garden as though nothing at all had happened between them. Crazy demon.

Ichigo sighed, thinking that he should get the hell out of there in case Saiu changed his mind. But—as stupid and insane and utterly illogical as it was—he couldn't bring himself to truly fear Saiu. He didn't know why—only that Saiu's explanation for it wasn't even _close_. But even after what had just happened, since he'd decided Saiu was dead wrong about all of it, he was merely annoyed about the whole thing. Plus he was tired, and Saiu was ignoring him, and he didn't want to move quite yet.

He'd rather just sit where he was and not think about anything until he could forget everything Saiu had said. His eyes slid shut, and he swallowed an exhausted yawn. When was the last time he'd had any real rest? How long had he been fighting today? He'd lost track.

"Go to sleep, Ichigo," Saiu murmured, sounding far away.

"Where're you gonna sleep then?" he mumbled, eyes still closed.

"I'm not going to sleep."

"Why not?"

"I need to think."

Ichigo opened his eyes to slits, lifting his eyebrows. "About what?"

"None of your business."

"Ch. That's a nice attitude." He closed his eyes again, not bothering to resist the yawn that cracked his jaw. Damn, he was tired.

"One cannot maneuver in the political mire of Hell's royal court without proper forethought."

"If you say so." A thought swam to the front of his mind. "Hey, are you going to get in a lot of trouble with Shiose?" It occurred to him that he knew that name only because of the possession; none of the Shinigami or even the Yokujin knew the Prince Heir's name.

"I would imagine not. A slap on the wrist, most likely."

"Oh, good." He tried to think of what else to say, but it was too much effort. Dull fatigue weighed him down, and he found himself listing to the side before he caught himself.

"Go to sleep, Ichigo."

"Uh-uh," he said thickly. "Got to go back to my room."

"Can you never just do as you're told?" came the exasperated reply from directly above him.

He blinked his eyes open to find Saiu standing over him, his expression bothered. With a few tugs and a shove from the demon, Ichigo found himself flopped back on the bed, a deliciously soft pillow under his head. His whole body felt boneless and lethargic. His eyelids were too heavy to keep open, so he let them slide closed.

"Anyone ever tell you you're a bossy nag?" he complained even as he sank contentedly into the bed.

He felt Saiu's weight dip the futon next to him and dragged his eyes open to see that Saiu had settled beside him, back to the wall and knees drawn up to his chest. He rested his chin on his knees and cast Ichigo a sidelong glance.

"You can't sleep with your eyes open," the demon pointed out dryly.

Drowsiness fuzzed his thoughts and sucked at his mind, so strong that he felt a sluggish flicker of realization. "You're using your aura on me, aren't you?" he grumbled.

"Maybe just a little. Go to sleep."

"You're a bastard." He sighed as he closed his eyes again. "But you're not bad, for a demon."

"I'm flattered by your high opinion of me."

"Shuddup." There was something else he needed to say. Oh yeah. "And don't hold your breath."

"I did hear you the first time. Sleep."

It was such a good suggestion, so Ichigo took it. Dreamless oblivion claimed him in moments, and never did it occur to him that going to sleep in a demon's bedroom, in the demon's bed, with the demon right there beside him, might not be a wise idea.

Saiu wasn't bad—for a demon.

* * *

**. x : X : x .**

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Ichigo's and Saiu's interactions are absurdly fun to write. As much as I would love to explore all the lovely possibilities raised in this chapter, it won't be happening in this story. There are only two chapters left, and then I need to take a teeny little break from fanfiction to finish up revisions of an original story.

But after that—Well, I'm already working on plans for a sequel. No guarantees it will happen, but the fact that I'm making plans already is definitely an encouraging sign!

Food for thought: Am I the only one who's noticed Ichigo's repeated obsessions with powerful, attractive male antagonists? I actually think Saiu makes a valid point. And speaking of Saiu, I have finally managed to successfully (mostly) depict him in art. Check out the link on my profile page!

Lastly, for the manga readers: Talk about your cruel cliffhangers! And here I thought everything was all okay now.


	39. Chapter 39

**Disclaimer: **Bleach does not belong to me, but Nakita, Seiko, Saiu, Shoku, Aranami, Nozomi, Hayate, Suisei, Chizome, Teuchi, Moesakaru, Dokugumo, Saichi, and Shiose do.

* * *

**DEVIL'S SMILE**

* * *

**Chapter 39**

* * *

The room was quiet and soothingly dark, the distant sounds of bustle and activity elsewhere in the building muffled but comforting. It was good to be alive. She'd been so sure that death had finally claimed her for good.

A quiet, hesitant tap on the door of her room made Nakita open her eyes. She smiled, sensing the identity of her visitor.

"Come," she called softly.

The door slid open and Tōshirō stepped into the room. He approached her bed with something near to uncertainty, his steps weary and his face etched with exhaustion. He was limping, and a quick glance with her Diviner's Sight showed that he had several injuries that hadn't been healed.

"You look tired," she said, her voice still annoyingly weak with her own fatigue.

"You look a lot worse than just tired," he replied, his voice stern and his expression so very serious. It made her smile. Nothing like dying—for a second time—to change one's perspective. Life was too short to be so serious all the time.

Without answering, she worked her arm out from under the blankets and lifted her hand toward him. Her arm trembled from the effort, but she ignored it, instead meeting Tōshirō's eyes and waiting.

She didn't need to wait long, because he moved immediately, closing the distance between them to take her cold hand in both of his, his grip strong and warm. He perched on the edge of the bed, and they shared a long moment without words.

Finally his serious expression softened, and there was a tender kind of smile in his eyes. "You're alive," he said softly.

"I didn't expect it either," she replied. "Demons are strange creatures. I never thought the Warlord would . . ."

As she trailed off, his face became amusedly irritated. "And how is it that you never mentioned that the leader of the Demon Hunters _was_ a demon?"

She blinked. "Oh. Well. It never really came up."

He gave her a long look, and she chuckled weakly. "Demons aren't good at obeying the rules, and since they had a whole realm of potentially powerful souls wasting away in Hell with them, a long time ago they decided to arrange for their human slaves to do all the hard work of keeping the lesser demons in line. It slowly evolved from there into an actual fighting organization, but always headed by a high-ranking demon. Actually, I think the Warlord might have been that demon since the very beginning . . . I've never asked."

"Not surprising," Tōshirō muttered, shaking his head.

She sighed, feeling absurdly content considering she'd been spitting furious earlier that evening. It was nearing midnight now, and she'd had several long hours to accept that Aranami wasn't going to be punished for nearly wiping the Shinigami out of existence—and getting a lot of people killed in the process. Seiko had told her about the fate of most of her Diviners. The hard truth was that she'd expected them _all_ to die, and had been grateful that she would not outlive them by long. She never thought she would have to live on with the weight of their deaths on her shoulders. At least they'd died doing something truly worthwhile.

The two traitors among the Diviners who'd died, however, she felt no grief for. She only wished she'd gained Hayate's complete trust so he wouldn't have fallen for Shoku's lies. And Shoku . . .

"You killed Shoku," she said, slightly awed. "Seiko told me. You did it."

"Don't sound so surprised," he grumbled, shyly avoiding her gaze. He traced the shape of her thumb with his fingers. "I couldn't have done it without Hiren. Without Hyōrinmaru _and_ Hiren."

At the mention of his Zanpakutō, she glanced at his shoulder, surprised not to see the hilt of the weapon poking up from behind him. "Where is Hyōrinmaru?"

"Aranami shattered it. I left it in my rooms to repair itself. Once it's whole again, I should be able to pass Hiren's power back to you."

A moment of grief squeezed her heart before she forced it away. "That won't be necessary," she said quietly.

He straightened abruptly, his gaze boring into hers. "What do you mean?"

"I want you to keep Hiren, Tōshirō," she said, trying to disguise the pain in her voice. "I won't . . . I won't be able to wield her any longer."

"What do you mean?" he demanded. His hands squeezed hers, offering comfort and softening his demand.

"I came back from the dead once without consequences," she whispered. "Coming back twice without paying a price would be impossible." She took a deep breath. "I drained myself to the limit and well beyond to cast the counter-spell. My body is no longer strong enough to hold my former levels of reiatsu. I won't have the power to summon Hiren. If you gave her back to me, I would never be able to use her. I would rather she stay with you."

He was quiet for a long moment, sympathetic sadness in his eyes. "Are you certain?"

"Yes. My Diviner's Sight still works perfectly well, and I can See what the extent of my recovery will be. The Warlord was able to bring me back, but I've lost most of my power. I'll have enough reiatsu for a few of the basic Lesser Kidō spells . . . and that's it."

He slowly shook his head, trying to deny it. "You'll lose your position as a Captain, won't you?"

"I'll lose my position as a Captain, Diviner, and Demon Hunter. The weak do not live long in the ranks of the Yokujin. Or in Hell, for that matter."

He almost crushed her fingers in his suddenly tight grip. "Then there's no way you're going back to Hell," he said sharply. "You can stay here. I'll make sure you can."

"No, Tōshirō," she said with quiet insistence.

"You are not going back!" he snapped, biting off each word. "You just said so yourself—you'll be killed. Or made into some demon's pet until it destroys you. I don't care if you still think you're evil—as _ridiculous_ as that is!—but I'm not letting you—"

"Tōshirō," she cut in firmly, "I don't have a choice. No—listen. Do you remember how Hell damaged Ichigo's pure soul? Well, Soul Society is almost as damaging to damned souls. Being damned isn't some divine ruling or a state of mind, it's a physical condition of the soul. I'll be destroyed here as surely as you would be in Hell."

"But—" He cut himself off, jaw working as he tried to come up with a counter argument. "But didn't you talk about damned souls ascending to Soul Society?" he asked finally, a kind of quiet desperation in his voice.

She freed her other arm from the covers to take his hands in hers. "Tōshirō . . ." she said gently, "ascending isn't that simple. If a soul is able to heal its darkness and become close enough to pure, it will be drawn from Hell by the very forces of the dimensions, like heat waves rising. No all-knowing deity or bodiless power makes these decisions or assigns souls to various afterlives."

"How do you know you haven't reached that point while you've been here?" he asked. "You could have ascended already."

She shook her head, forcing herself to settle back into the bed. He was more upset over her fate than she was herself. But then, Seiko had always said she was fearless to the point of madness.

"When souls ascend, they are essentially reborn. If I ascended naturally, I would, among other things, lose all my memories of Hell and my life before that." She smiled a little. "Haven't you ever wondered why no one in Soul Society ever mentions having originally come from Hell?"

He didn't smile back, glaring at the wall behind her as he tried to hide his frustration and distress.

"Tōshirō . . ." she whispered. She didn't know how to comfort him.

Clenching her jaw, she gathered her strength and forced her weakened body to move. She levered herself into a sitting position—and nearly fell into his arms when her strength gave out. He pulled her against his chest and pressed his face against her hair. She relaxed into his embrace, and—to her horror—felt tears prick her eyes.

She couldn't remember ever being held like that before.

She didn't know at what point exactly Tōshirō had become so important to her. They hadn't known each other very long. Yet, somehow, a connection had been forged between them that went beyond simply _knowing_ another person. She had no words to describe it, and could only marvel at the warm peace his presence brought her. They both stood in world where they didn't quite fit—but when she was with him, she felt like a puzzle piece that had finally found its match.

Whatever had pulled them to each other and was holding them there, she didn't know. But she did know that as much as ascension from Hell would be a gift to her battered soul, she didn't want it. Because if she ascended, she would forget not just Tōshirō, but all the reasons why what she felt for him was so special. Trust was a treasure so great that most people never realized how truly rare it was.

So she would go back to Hell and fight to survive as long as she could. And maybe someday she would ascend, but every day until that moment, she would remember what it was to trust . . . and maybe even what it was to love.

* * *

**. o : O : o .**

* * *

Reckless.

The word swooped circles in her head, repeating over and over. Reckless, reckless, reckless. Stupid might have been a better word, but Nakita wasn't quite that honest with herself. She was being reckless, and she knew it, but she wasn't about to turn back now.

She paused in the hallway, bracing a hand against the wall and breathing hard through her nose. She was too weak for this. But she wasn't going to get any rest until she saw with her own eyes the source of her worries.

Tōshirō would have yelled at her if he saw her now, staggering around the dark, deserted halls of the barrack. He was asleep back in her room, having dozed off while she worked her way through an enormous meal to boost her strength—not that her strength was that boosted even with the extra fuel. While she'd been eating, he'd told her about Ichigo and the demon prince Saiu, and everyone's concern for Ichigo's wellbeing. Shortly before that, Nozomi had stopped in, reporting that Ichigo's taint hadn't responded to healing or cleansing—and the third seat Diviner had no idea why not.

Nakita flexed the tight muscles of her jaw. Nozomi was an excellent Diviner, but she lacked patience. She must not have looked deep or long enough to find the answer. Which meant Nakita had to do it herself.

And since she couldn't sleep until she stopped worrying, that meant checking on Ichigo _now_. Which had seemed simple enough—until she'd realized just where Ichigo had ended up for the night. Her worry deepened.

A few more minutes of slow progress carried her deep into the abandoned wing of the barracks. It was hauntingly empty, and her steps echoed strangely. She knew _why _it was empty, but it was still disconcerting. As she moved, she could feel the whispers of demonic aura drift by her, so subtle only a trained Yokujin would be able to sense it. The demon prince wasn't trying all that hard to keep his aura suppressed.

And Ichigo was right there in the middle of it.

She paused in front of a closed door, gathering her strength as she felt the pulse of dark power waiting beyond the thin wooden barrier. _Reckless_ trolled through her thoughts, and she forced herself to take a deep breath. Considering her recent brushes with death, she should know better. Yet, she feared that even Tōshirō didn't realize the danger Ichigo was in. Though the Shinigami Captain was by no means comfortable around the demon prince, familiarity bred complacency. Having walked among them for as long as she had, Nakita was perhaps the only one in Soul Society who understood just how volatile demons could be.

They didn't _think_ like humans. They didn't form attachments, didn't carry the meaning of 'ally' beyond political conveniences. They could—and did—turn on their brothers and sisters, their parents, their allies of a thousand years, all without regret. They simply did not _feel_ guilt. Or mercy, or love, or even affection. To Saiu, slaughtering Ichigo in a feast of blood would be a perfectly natural way to conclude their alliance. If it weren't for the prince's standing contract with Ichigo, Nakita would have been expecting to walk in on a murder scene.

Lifting her chin in defiance of the danger, she slid the door open and stepped into the demon's lair.

The gloom in the main room was oppressive, the shadows so dark and thick as to have nearly a life of their own. Undoubtedly, the atmosphere of Soul Society was severely uncomfortable for a demon of Saiu's power and darkness of soul. Like some humans were more pure than others, some demons were darker than others, and Saiu would be among the darkest of them all. Soul Society's light, not the physical but the otherworldly, might very well be physically painful to a demon like Saiu. He was obviously taking steps to shield against it: the room was flooded with dark power and coated in his aura.

She forced herself to breathe deeply as she stepped into it, even though it felt like she was breathing cold sand—as though she'd just walked into Hell itself. She moved slowly through the impenetrable dark of the room, using her Diviner's Sight to see where she was going. The press of power in the room seared her, ice-fire licking at her skin—her unwelcome was abundantly clear.

She came to the threshold of the sleeping quarters and stopped. There, sprawled in blissful abandon across the bed, was Ichigo, mouth hanging open in sleep, face slack and peaceful amidst the cold, heavy aura of darkness that permeated the air.

Sitting beside him was the demon prince, staring at her with cold, merciless eyes.

She'd spoken with Saiu only once, when he'd possessed Ichigo's mind just long enough to explain the purpose of Aranami's spell and tell her what she had to do. This was the first time she'd seen him in person—and she could hardly breathe to look on him.

He was dark, beautiful, glorious. His unblinking stare took her in from head to toes, slow, calculating, leisurely. The slight tilt of his head beckoned her closer, the angle of his reclined body inviting her to touch him. The faint upward tilt of his lips was almost teasing, the curve of his pale cheekbones exotic against the black silk of his hair. He was relaxed, confident, so absolutely undeniable.

His eyes gleamed red in the night-cloaked room, and his gaze promised her pleasure and torment, rapture and icy, unremitting death.

She quaked under his stare, feeling his aura tighten around her like a snake's coils, just a breath away from overwhelming her. She had nowhere near enough reiatsu to defend herself from him. How could Ichigo be sleeping beside this creature of darkness? How could he look so serene, so _comfortable_, while she slowly drowned in the freezing black power soaking the air?

Minutes passed as they stared at one another, waiting for the other to move. With her whole body shivering, Nakita finally tore her gaze from the demon and locked her eyes on Ichigo instead. Blinking her Diviner's Sight into focus, she studied him, peeling through the layers of information available to her Sight, down and down into the depths of his soul.

Horror swept through her veins like a glacial wind. Black demon taint rippled over Ichigo's bright soul, dimming its light. His soul was shrunken and ragged, a rock that had been beaten by the raging ocean to a mere shadow of its former self. And—her stomach clenched with near nausea at the sight—deep in the heart of Ichigo's soul, invisible to all but those with the most delicate, attuned senses, was a tiny pinprick of glowing demonic black.

Ichigo was more than just tainted by demonic aura. He'd _absorbed_ a little bit of demonic _soul_. He carried within him the tiniest fragment of Saiu's black, darkest-of-dark demon soul.

No wonder he was impervious to the dark power in the room. He probably hadn't even noticed it. He himself _was_ demonic now, just a little bit.

Shaking inside and out, needing so desperately to look away from what she saw, Nakita turned her Sight on Saiu instead—and felt her heart skip with sudden shock.

Saiu's demon soul, so dark and immeasurably powerful, was shredded. It was healing quickly—she could see how much damage had already been repaired—but even now it was _more_ tattered and damaged than Ichigo's. Saiu's soul was in worse condition. _Worse_.

And suddenly so many things made sense.

She focused more intently, and there it was. Gleaming like a single candle flame in an endless frozen night was a glimmer of human light in Saiu's soul. A slightly brighter light than the darkness in Ichigo. Saiu was more human than Ichigo was now demon—though both amounts were still infinitesimally small.

She let out her breath in one explosive exhale, casting away her Sight before she was too weak to control it. She met Saiu's terrifying stare and pushed her shoulders back.

"You know, don't you?" she whispered. The darkness of the room deadened her voice, absorbing the sound.

Saiu did not respond, just continued to stare at her, dangerous, deadly, so very, very unpredictable—even more so now that he was no longer entirely demon.

She understood it now. Everything Tōshirō had described to her about Saiu and Zaraki's altercation where Ichigo had stepped in, and later the confrontation between Saiu and Ichigo over Matsumoto Rangiku.

Saiu had yielded to Ichigo. A demon prince of Hell had backed down from a _human_ when challenged. Had done so more than once. It should have been impossible. Not because Saiu was unreasonable or egotistical, but because of the very nature of the demon psyche. Demons _could not_ tolerate challenge from someone less powerful than themselves. They would instinctively and relentlessly crush anyone who defied their dominant ranking. They couldn't help themselves and wouldn't even try. It was not only their nature, but the way their society functioned.

But Ichigo, a human, had challenged Saiu—and Saiu relented. Ichigo wasn't more powerful than Saiu. Not even close. Saiu was undeniably the more dominant of the two in physical strength, mental cunning, and reiatsu. Yet Saiu had yielded to Ichigo, an action that, because of the fundamental nature of a demon, should have been impossible—except for one detail.

Ichigo was more powerful in _soul_.

When Saiu had possessed Ichigo, merging their bodies and forcing two souls into a single being, their souls had been utterly incompatible and had sought dominance, trying to burn the other out. Before the separation, both souls had taken a huge amount of damage. One of them had been on the verge of destroying the other.

If Saichi had remained whole, he would have lived with Ichigo's soul. Saiu's soul, dark and demonic, would have been destroyed.

Ichigo was more powerful in soul. Saiu was more powerful in body. They were matched, equals in dominance over the other. That was why when Ichigo pushed hard enough, Saiu could yield without violence. Likewise, Ichigo accepted Saiu as the leader in their partnership without resistance, because he knew on some level he was freely choosing to take the subordinate position.

Add to that dance of dominance Saiu's little bit of human and Ichigo's little bit of demon, and Nakita could only be awed by the perfect complexity of it, the so very delicate balance between them.

Her rigid stance slowly relaxed. She still feared for the fate of Ichigo's soul, for what that little bit of demon soul might do to him over time, but she no longer feared what Saiu might do to Ichigo in the immediate future. Saiu was by no means harmless, but Ichigo could hold his own against him. Until the balance between them shifted, Ichigo was safe.

The demon prince was, however, very much a danger to everyone else.

"_Miyasama_," she began, boldly meeting his stare. "Ichigo is . . . special," she said after a moment of thought. She recognized that unique essence in him almost from their first meeting.

"Yes, he is," the demon replied, speaking for the first time in a light and lilting, almost musical voice.

"I don't want to see that ruined in him," she went on carefully.

"Neither do I," Saiu murmured.

She waited for a moment, trying to determine if they were both following the unspoken conversation that paralleled the spoken one.

"Are you going to honour your bargain with him?" she asked finally. "Will you let him go now that this is done?"

He looked back at her, silent for a long time. Finally, he said very softly, "Demons always honour our bargains."

She nodded, relieved. Unwilling to push the limits of his temper with her continued presence, she turned to leave. As she stepped out of the room, the demon's voice floated after her, whisperingly soft and somehow potently sad.

"All we have is our honour . . . whatever the price."

She didn't turn back, didn't acknowledge his words, moving quickly until she was almost running to get away from the darkness of that room. When she stood in a quiet hall beyond the reach of any demonic aura, she leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes.

The battle to save Seireitei—to save all the worlds—had exacted its payment from all of them.

She had ruined her body, forever unable to hold any real power. Tōshirō had ruined his heart, broken by the knowledge that he couldn't save her from her fate. Ichigo had ruined his soul, tainting it with a demon's darkness. Saiu had ruined his mind, human emotions warping his nature to something neither demon nor human and forever trapped between.

But they were alive, all of them. And for all that they'd lost, they had each gained something that to them was even more precious. For that, they could only be grateful.

She smiled. Pushing off from the wall, she hurried down the hall, suddenly eager to return to Tōshirō's side and finally get some sleep. The sun would rise in the morning, and none of them had time for pity or regret.

* * *

**. o : O : o .**

* * *

Squinting through sleep-blurred eyes, Nakita tried to figure out what had woken her up. Glaringly bright sunlight streamed through the window, and now that she was awake, she couldn't figure out how she'd been sleeping through it.

A quiet rap on the door made her realize that it was a visitor that had drawn her from the oblivion of sleep. Shading her eyes with one hand, she sat up with a wince—too many weak, sore muscles—and pushed her hair off her shoulders.

"Come in," she called.

The door slid open, and Ichigo crept in.

Nakita's eyebrows shot up as she watched him approach, his head ducked and eyes averted like a child who was pretty sure he'd done something wrong but didn't know yet if he was going to get in trouble for it. His clothes were rumpled from being slept in, and Nakita wondered if he'd just woken up.

"Good morning," she said carefully.

"Morning," he mumbled. The room was empty but for the two of them and the blinding beams of sunlight. Ichigo perched nervously on the edge of the empty bed beside hers and started darting quick, anxious glances at her.

"What's the matter, Ichigo?" she asked dryly. "You're as edgy as an imp on the full moon."

His eyes widened slightly before he dropped his gaze, hunching his shoulders in a subconscious effort to seem small and unnoticeable. His jaw worked as he chewed the inside of his lip, and Nakita could only wonder what had him tied up in knots so early in the morning. Did he think she'd be upset he'd spent the night in a demon's bedroom? How would he even know she'd seen him there?

"I think I have a problem," he finally confessed, still mumbling and looking like he'd rather fight off a dozen demon lords than have this conversation with her.

Her eyebrows shooting up under her bangs, she folded her arms in her lap. "And what's the problem?"

He twisted the ties of hakama around his fists, huffing several times as he worked himself up to it. Nakita swallowed a growl of impatience, forcing herself to remain still. If she tried to hurry him, he'd probably lose his nerve and refuse to talk at all.

"Well . . . it's . . . I think . . ." He glared at his hands, scowling blackly. "I think Saiu . . . likes me."

Nakita blinked a few times and went over his words in her head, looking for the problem that was making him so tense. "Um," she said, "well, that's a good thing, isn't it? You'd probably be dead now if he hadn't taken such an uncharacteristic liking to you. He certainly doesn't like any of the rest of us."

Ichigo frowned at her for a moment, then shook his head sharply. "No, I mean . . . he _likes_ me."

She stared at him in confusion until she noticed the bright red suffusing his cheeks—and then she got it.

A laugh burst from her before she could stop it. Ichigo shot her a murderous glare and went back to strangling the ties of his hakama. No wonder he hadn't wanted to talk to her!

"Sorry, Ichigo," she said quickly, swallowing another chuckle and composing her face into a more serious expression. "I can understand that you're concerned, but really, it's nothing to worry about. It's not even personal. Demons are just like that. They like to play with souls—whether emotional torment, physical torture, or—well, or other things. It's their nature."

She recalled that Saiu's demonic nature was slightly to significantly altered, so the demon prince might be a unique case—but she doubted it. To Saiu, it was just another form of conquest.

Hands clenched and face bright red with embarrassment, Ichigo didn't look comforted. Nakita shifted restlessly, feeling a little awkward herself. She figured Ichigo's worries were stemming from some kind of direct advance from Saiu, but she wasn't about to ask for details.

"Ichigo," she said soothingly, "Saiu finds you interesting—you're probably the first human he's interacted with that he didn't see as little more than a plaything to use up and destroy. He's curious about you, and—well, demons don't have nearly the same kind of boundaries that humans do when it comes to . . . intimacy. So far, you've stood your ground with Saiu remarkably well—unbelievably well, I should say—and this isn't any different. You just have to draw the line for what is acceptable to you, and if he pushes—well, you'll just have to give him a good hard shove back."

She looked at him expectantly, even though she personally had no idea if it would be that simple. Ichigo and Saiu had a strange kind of balance between them, but she didn't know how long it could last. And if Saiu was feeling unsettled by Ichigo's more powerful soul, he might seek other ways to assert his dominance over Ichigo. And this latest move was just the kind of mental and emotional warfare a demon would employ.

Ichigo sucked in a sharp breath and let it out. He managed to meet her eyes for the first time since his confession. "Do you think that's all it is? Curiosity?"

"I'm sure," she said firmly. "Remember, demons don't experience a lot of the emotions we do. Intimacy doesn't have any deeper meaning for them."

The tension finally flowed out of Ichigo's shoulders, and even though his face was still bright pink, he finally seemed to relax.

"Hmph," he grumbled. "Why can't he go find some girl-demon to bother?"

Nakita snorted. "For Class 2 and higher, male demons outnumber female demons by about five to one, so there aren't a lot to choose from." When Ichigo goggled at her, she smirked. "It's for the same reason that pretty much all powerful male demons are bisexual. Being immortal, they don't need to worry about reproduction. Demons are like drug addicts: they're always looking for their next high. And they aren't shy about looking for it however, whenever, and wherever they please."

Ichigo was going from pink to red again. A thought flickered across his face, his eyes widening slightly before dropping.

"Do you know why demons . . . you know . . . steal reiatsu?" he asked, his tone suggesting he already knew the answer.

She frowned but nodded. "Yes, it's extremely pleasurable to them. As I said, they're always looking for different kinds of high."

"Do you know about how they can share power too, instead of steal it?" he asked, staring determinedly at the floor between his feet.

"I didn't know that until you and Tōshirō told me about it. Why?"

His face was definitely even redder now. "No reason."

"Ichigo," she said sternly. He shook his head, stubbornly mute. She scowled at him, and since he was annoying her now, decided she was entitled to one little teasing jab.

"Well, just in case you were tempted, I wouldn't recommend taking Saiu up on whatever offer he made you," she said seriously, fighting back a vindictive little smile at Ichigo's horrified expression. "Demons prefer to mix their pleasure with equal amounts of pain, so I rather doubt you'd like it much."

With a strangled choking sound, Ichigo shot to his feet. "Well, thanks for the help," he said tersely. "I'll go now."

She snickered and was about to call him back and maybe apologize when another tap on the door cut her short. She called a welcome, and Tōshirō strode into the room. His face was stoic and businesslike, his white Captain's haori pristine and billowing behind him. With tension showing in the set of his shoulders and a stiffness in his stride suggesting nerves, he planted himself at the foot of her bed and very nearly glared at her and Ichigo.

Her eyebrows shot up again. It looked like she wasn't going to get a quiet, relaxing morning at all.

"Good, you're up," he said to her, the words clipped. "And Kurosaki, I want you to come too."

"Come where?" she and Ichigo asked at the same time.

Tōshirō waved them to hurry up and marched out of the room without another word. Sharing a quick, confused look with Ichigo, she extricated herself from bed and pulled on the black kosode that Ichigo handed her. She really needed to track down her Diviner's uniform. Even if she wasn't a Diviner any more, it was just strange to be dressing as a Shinigami.

Tōshirō was waiting impatiently in the hall. As soon as they were out, he strode off again, leaving her and Ichigo to hurry after him. The hot bite of annoyance made her scowl and huff every few steps, but Tōshirō didn't slow long enough for them to question him—but it didn't take her long to figure out where they were headed. As they moved into the deserted wing of the barracks, she couldn't imagine what Tōshirō could possibly need to see the demon prince about.

When he reached Saiu's door, he knocked sharply and stepped back, his closed-off expression warning them not to bother asking questions even now. Nakita thought she recognized Tōshirō's about-to-execute-a-plan game face, but she wasn't sure. Only one way to find out. She turned to the door and waited for it to open.

And waited. And waited.

After several minutes passed, she and Tōshirō both looked questioningly at Ichigo. He shrugged and stepped between them, sliding open the door without preamble.

The lavishly decorated room was as dark and heavy as Nakita remembered, though the bright beams of morning sun coming through the slatted window helped some, and once again empty of any occupant. Ichigo stepped heedlessly into the oppressive atmosphere and headed straight for the entryway into the bedroom. With a shared look, she and Tōshirō stopped just inside the main door and waited.

Ichigo vanished into the bedroom, and a moment later his voice floated out.

"I thought you weren't going to sleep," he commented, sounding amused.

The reply was too soft for Nakita to make out. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, not liking the idea of disturbing a demon prince's rest.

A minute later, Ichigo came back out, followed by a noticeably sleep-tousled demon. The moment Saiu stepped into the main room, he flinched back, one had going to his eyes.

"Oh," Nakita said suddenly. "Here, I'll get it." She darted to the window and slapped the shutters closed. Hell's sun was dim, giving off weak purplish rays of light. The sun here was uncomfortably bright to her after years in Hell's sun—and could only be painful to Saiu's eyes, which had probably never encountered undiluted sunlight before.

After an awkward moment of disorganization—awkward for the humans; Saiu was entirely composed, though still looking a little muzzy from sleep—the four of them settled at the low table in the center of the room, one on each side of the square. Saiu reclined back rather lazily, looking between the three of them with those dark, dangerous eyes.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of such company this morning?" he asked after a long moment of silence, his voice low and thrumming.

Nakita and Ichigo both looked at Tōshirō, who straightened his shoulders and met Saiu's eyes boldly.

"Prince Saiu," he said, his voice hard and determined, "I don't know what the proper protocol might be for this, if there is any, so I'll just cut to the chase. I've come to make a bargain with you."

"No!" Nakita gasped. "Tōshirō, you don't know what you're doing! Demon bargains are dangerous. You can't—"

"A bargain?" Saiu repeated in a near purr, his eyes brightening to red with interest. "What is it you would have from me, Shinigami?"

Tōshirō stared the demon prince down, his gaze unyielding, utterly resolute.

"I want to bargain for Nakita's soul."

* * *

**. x : X : x .**

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

I can't believe how long it's been since my last update! It didn't seem that long. I've been so busy for the last while—it's been crazy! Where did October go? As a bit of a sorry-for-taking-so-long present, I extended this chapter with the last part; it was originally part of the next chapter (which is going to be the final chapter of the story, so everyone knows).

Last chapter was the first in the story where some reviewers were (very politely) unhappy with the content. I expected it, but I also found it to be a more difficult experience than I anticipated. Thanks to everyone who shared their thoughts, whether happy or not so happy with the developments.

I want to take a moment to clarify something about said developments. For me, writing is all about the growth of the characters, about exploring their inner selves, their strengths and weaknesses, their inhibitions and passions and perceptions. It's about character development and relationship dynamics, about moving the characters into _inner_ adversity as well as outer adversity, and seeing what happens. In this particular case, it's relationship dynamics between two males. Last chapter, I added another layer of complexity to that relationship by making Ichigo aware of Saiu's interest. (Saiu was _always_ interested. Ichigo wasn't, and still isn't; just because Saiu gave an opinion doesn't make it a reality.) Their relationship is one that will challenge both of them on multiple levels—and I want to find out what happens next.

That is why the sequel, if I write it, will have a stronger focus on those two and their relationship than this story did. But exactly where they'll end up, I'm not sure. I have to write it first to find out.


	40. Chapter 40

**Disclaimer: **Bleach does not belong to me, but Nakita, Seiko, Saiu, Shoku, Aranami, Nozomi, Hayate, Suisei, Chizome, Teuchi, Moesakaru, Dokugumo, Saichi, and Shiose do. Furthermore, the existing concept of Hell, demons, and Demon Hunters are entirely of my creation.

* * *

**DEVIL'S SMILE**

* * *

**Chapter 40**

* * *

"I want to bargain for Nakita's soul."

A muffled kind of silence descended on them following Tōshirō's bald statement. Shock paralyzed Nakita for a moment too long, and Saiu spoke again before she could protest.

"Then let us begin," he crooned to Tōshirō. "I would first make you aware that it is not in my power to ascend her soul. Such is a process that must occur from within."

"Tōshirō," Nakita snarled, throwing off her shock. "Don't be an idiot. Don't—"

"Shut up, Kita," Ichigo interrupted, giving her such a glare that she forgot what she was saying for surprise.

Ignoring them both, Tōshirō nodded to Saiu. "I already knew that. The problem lies in that, by casting the spell to save Seireitei and your brother—a task _you_ set her—Nakita lost almost all her power, and subsequently her ability to defend herself in Hell."

"Firstly," Saiu replied, "I gave her instruction; the task is one she would have undertaken with or without my assistance, and thus it cannot be used as a marker in this bargain. Secondly, I have not the power to reverse the damage she took. That kind of healing is beyond the abilities of any soul or demon."

Tōshirō's mouth tightened, but he nodded his acceptance. "In that case, I want you to give her your protection in Hell."

Saiu reclined back, his lips curving in amusement. "_My_ protection? What makes you believe I am a suitable guardian?"

"Tōshirō," she hissed, "he'll destroy me whether he intends it or not. And besides, I couldn't survive long in the deepest part of Hell where the princes live. Stop now—you have no idea what you're doing!"

With the most infuriating, perverse stubbornness, he completely ignored her, keeping his attention completely focused on Saiu.

"I don't mean your direct protection," he countered. "Your demon mark on Kurosaki scared off Ito Shoku and quite a few demons; it would appear to me that your favour alone is protection enough for the average soul."

"I see," Saiu murmured. "So you wish me to protect her with influence rather than power. A demon mark, then, to warn others that she belongs to me?" He considered it for a long moment. "It would not guarantee her safety, but it would certainly help."

"Is that all you can do?" Ichigo put in unexpectedly, his tone wry. "Try a little harder, Saiu."

The demon prince cast Ichigo an irritated glare before refocusing on Tōshirō. "I can instruct the Warlord to keep her on as an administrative member of the Yokujin. I'm sure he can find or invent some position for her where she will be under his watch and safe from attack by low-level demons that are oblivious to the politics that would otherwise protect her."

Tōshirō nodded, and Ichigo folded his arms in a satisfied kind of way. "Sounds pretty good to me," he said.

Nakita's mouth hung open slightly as the three males arranged her future for her without even a glance in her direction.

"Thus stands my offer then, Hitsugaya," Saiu said, and his eyes brightened with hungry focus. "Now to determine _your_ contribution to our bargain."

Tōshirō's face went still, all expression fading as he faced the demon prince. "My motivation behind this all is personal, and I won't betray my authority within the Gotei 13 for a purely personal bargain. Therefore, my contribution will be personal and must not compromise my integrity as a Captain."

"Sounds fair," Ichigo remarked, giving Saiu a hard look that clearly said the demon had better find it fair too.

Saiu gave a wistful little sigh, but nodded. "Then what of a personal nature would you be offering, Hitsugaya?" His lips curved into a dangerous, taunting smile. "Nothing _too_ personal, I would assume?"

Tōshirō's poker face was better than Ichigo's; he managed not to blush.

"When you made your bargain with Kurosaki," he said, ignoring the demon's suggestive second question, "you had him fulfill a task you needed completed by someone outside Hell. I'm willing to do something similar when you need it."

Saiu was silent, studying Tōshirō while he thought it over. "Since the exact task will be determined at a later date, what restrictions would you place upon it?"

"That it not involve the Gotei 13 or force me to betray my position there. That it not involve killing innocents. That it not involve unfair risk to me, such as a situation where I'd most likely be killed." He looked at Nakita then, his expression asking if he'd missed anything.

She was so furious with all three of them by this point that she was tempted to turn away and leave him to muddle along on his own, but she managed to resist. Instead, she growled, "That it not involve entering Hell. And that the credit is non-transferable."

"Non-transferable?" Ichigo repeated blankly.

"Meaning he can't trade it to another demon," she elaborated shortly.

Ichigo's eyes widened, and he looked around at Saiu. "You can do that?"

Saiu smiled at him, his pointed teeth gleaming. "You sound so scandalized, Ichigo. Fear not; I would never exchange _you_ for another demon's favour."

Ichigo blushed under the demon's dark, steady gaze.

Saiu turned his attention back to Tōshirō. "I agree to your terms, adding only that your debt to me stands regardless of Matsuo Nakita's state of wellbeing. I will make the arrangements as stated and do as I may to ensure her continued safety, but as already stated I can make no guarantees. Even if she dies within a season, you will still owe me on our bargain."

"Agreed," Tōshirō said.

"Agreed," Saiu echoed, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

Nakita gritted her teeth so hard that pain shot through her jaw. Damn Tōshirō. Damn all three of them. He had no idea what he'd just done. And not even agreeing on his side of the bargain in full beforehand—that was dangerous in the extreme. But no one was going to listen to her, and Ichigo was still watching her closely, ready to jump on her the second she interfered. _He_ obviously didn't see anything wrong with allowing Tōshirō to indebt himself to a demon prince over her soul.

Saiu extended his hand toward Tōshirō, his dark claws gleaming against his pale skin. Tōshirō clasped the offered hand—and gasped, going rigid as black, red, and teal light swept up his arm from Saiu's hand, forming twisting, coiling black designs that settled on his skin and sank in. The demon magic swirled over his arm, twisting into his very soul as Saiu wrapped him in the spell of bargaining, marking Tōshirō as a debtor in his power—as good as Saiu's property by Hell's laws.

The coloured light steadied into a complex, cruel-looking black design that covered the back of Tōshirō's hand and ran partway up his forearm. As Saiu released him, the mark slowly faded into invisibility, undetectable until the presence of another demon woke it. Tōshirō sagged, breathing hard and pulling his arm to his chest. His eyes were wide and staring, his face pale—the infiltration of demon magic into his soul had probably pushed him into shock. Nakita glared at him, torn between fury and concern, and even more furious that she felt concerned at all.

Ichigo grimaced in sympathy, giving Tōshirō an awkward pat on the shoulder. "It'll feel better in a few minutes," he mumbled, obviously speaking from experience.

"Shall I lift your mark now, Ichigo?" Saiu asked, rather reluctantly Nakita thought. "Our bargain is now complete, after all."

"Right," Ichigo said. He held out his arm.

Saiu took his wrist in both hands, with far more care than he'd shown Tōshirō, and Ichigo's mark lit up, glowing from hand to shoulder and up the side of his neck. The symbols brightened, then writhed like snakes. The magic swirled and pulsed, pulling off his skin until it seemed to hover over him. Then it dispersed like smoke in wind, vanishing to nothing.

Nakita's eyes narrowed. Just as Saiu pulled his hands from Ichigo's skin, she lunged across the table and grabbed Ichigo's hand. Her fingers digging in urgently, she flipped Ichigo's hand over—and caught the briefest sight of a small, spiky black symbol marking the underside of Ichigo's wrist before it faded from sight.

"What is _that_?" she demanded, sliding off the table to resume her spot. She glared at Saiu. "You didn't remove the whole mark!"

"Ichigo was altered by my possession of him," Saiu said calmly, more to Ichigo than to her. "To a high-level demon with acute senses, he feels slightly demonic. He could easily attract the attention of a wandering demon in the human world. My mark offers some protection."

"And what are the strings attached to that protection?" she snapped. "Ichigo hasn't agreed to a new bargain! By your own laws, he has to agree first."

Saiu's gaze turned to Ichigo. Their eyes met, and Nakita's anger vanished into anxious confusion as she sensed the current passing between them. She hadn't the slightest idea what their silent communication was, but after a long moment, Saiu made an irritated noise.

"Nothing," he sighed, frowning crossly at Ichigo. "I require nothing in return. There are no strings."

"What?" Nakita stared at him. "There's no such thing as a one-sided demon bargain." It was impossible. Demons didn't do _anything_ that didn't benefit them somehow.

Ichigo smirked. "Damn human emotions, eh, Saiu?"

"Shut up."

"Come on, don't be embarrassed," he said, grinning. "Nothing wrong with not wanting a friend to get hurt. I'd protect _you_ if I could. Not that you need it."

"Shut up."

"Demons don't have friends," Nakita told Ichigo flatly.

"Saiu ain't your normal demon anymore, remember?"

Saiu's jaw tightened. "The moment I recover from this ridiculous infection of humanity, I'm going to roast your still-beating heart and feed it to a horde of imps."

"Hey, your threats are getting more creative. Well done."

The demon prince growled. Ichigo grinned wolfishly back.

Nakita met Tōshirō's wide-eyed stare, and without a word exchanged, they both rose to their feet and fled the room, leaving the irate demon prince and laughing human to their bickering games—and she hoped against hope that Saiu's touch of humanity lasted long enough that Tōshirō wouldn't have cause to regret his bargain to save her soul.

Because there was nothing she or Ichigo could do to save him otherwise.

* * *

**. o : O : o .**

* * *

"Matsumoto!"

The patter of retreating footsteps was his only reply. Tōshirō hung out the doorway of his office, glaring at the empty hall. Damn it, she'd escaped. That woman was as unreliable as a Hollow in a room full of souls.

He stomped back to his desk and dropped into the seat, frowning mutinously at the pile of paperwork stacked with mocking neatness on the otherwise empty tabletop. It might have been almost a month since half of Seireitei had been ravaged by demons, but the paperwork caused by it was _endless_. Repairs, supplies, reassignments, new recruits, expanded training. And every little thing had to be properly documented.

With a sigh, he thunked an elbow down on the table and propped his chin up with his hand. As he tapped the fingers of his other hand on the desk in a random little tune, his eyes settled on the back of his hand.

Invisible but undeniably there was a coiling black design: his demon mark from Saiu. He could feel it there, under his skin, all the time. No one else knew about it except Kurosaki and Nakita. Better to keep it that way; he didn't think the Captain-Commander would be too happy to learn one of his Captains belonged in any way to a demon—let alone a demon prince.

Tōshirō wasn't overly concerned about it himself. He hadn't heard a word from Saiu since he'd returned to Hell, nor had the mark lit up or changed in any way. He doubted Saiu would be calling in the marker any time in the near future. Most likely, it would be decades before the demon prince needed an outside agent.

He hoped Nakita was safe. He could only pray, could only remember the calm, steady confidence of the Warlord of the Yokujin and hope that the demon would be able to protect her. He wondered sometimes if she thought about him as often as he thought of her. Too often. He needed to put her behind him. It was long past time to let it all go.

Someday, he was sure, she would ascend to Soul Society. And she would forget they had ever met. She would forget him completely, not know him from any stranger on the street were they to meet. She would forget being a Demon Hunter, a Diviner, a Captain. All they'd had in common would be lost to her. And to him.

She would forget she had given him a piece of her soul.

He lifted his hand to touch Hyōrinmaru's hilt. Hiren stirred, giving his mind a brief, wordless caress before settling back into sleep. No, who was he was trying to fool? He would never be able to forget Nakita entirely. Whether she forgot him or not.

Another sigh slid from him. Pushing away from the desk, he stood up and headed for the door. Time to track down Matsumoto. There was no way he was doing all that paperwork himself.

* * *

**. o : O : o .**

* * *

"Damn you, Tōshirō," Nakita snarled under her breath. She flexed her fingers, forcibly restraining herself from crumpling the papers in her hand. "I _hate _paperwork. Hate it!"

With a snarl, she slapped the papers down on the desk and stomped over to the massive filing cabinets lining the walls of the office. Hauling open a drawer, she started pawing through the documents, looking for one single sheet. Mutters escaped her with each wrong page heading.

She'd done paperwork as a Captain. She'd just never really thought about where all those papers went when she was done with them, and who ended up in charge of the resulting forests of files.

Thanks to Tōshirō's meddling, _she_ was that lucky person now.

To be fair, it was about the best anyone could have hoped for. As the Warlord's administrative assistant and personal secretary, she was safe from just about anyone or anything. Tucked away in the Yokujin compound, with her workspace just off the Warlord's own office, no one would even consider bothering her in spite of her powerless state.

But she _hated_ paperwork. Really hated it. She would rather have been fighting desperately for survival out in the barrens of Hell than digging through years of pointless bureaucracy.

As she burrowed into another drawer, a tingle of heat on the side of her neck announced the appearance of her demon mark. Saiu's mark was even better protection than being the Warlord's paper girl. Really, she'd rather take her chances out there among the beasts of the underworld. Too bad Saiu had flatly ordered her to stay right where she was and do whatever the Warlord said.

Then the demon prince had added that if she was too stupid to let them protect her, then she deserved to die and betray Tōshirō's forfeit. Then she'd tried to punch him, and the Warlord had dragged her off spitting curses at the prince. Not her best moment.

She absently rubbed her tingling neck. A sound from the adjacent office told her that her demon mark was awake because the Warlord had returned from his visit to the palace. Abandoning the filing cabinets without a second thought, she tramped over to the door, tapped on it, and walked in.

The Warlord was just leaning back in his chair, his ankles propped on his desk. Working hard, as usual. His ice-white hair, done in its usual thick braid, fell over one shoulder, and his red eyes flicked toward her.

"How'd it go?" she asked, dropping into the chair across from him. She ignored the gaping hole in the wall beside them; apparently, Saiu had thrown the Warlord's old desk through it. She kind of wished she'd been there to see that.

The Warlord gave a nod. "My worry was needless. The Prince is back to himself, as hoped."

Nakita took a deep breath and let it out, not sure how she felt about the news.

"The spark of human soul has faded almost to nothing, only identifiable if you know to look for it—and even then, almost impossible to spot. He's also completely himself again in personality." A relieved smile took him for a moment. "There seem to be no lingering side-effects at all."

"Well," Nakita said slowly, since it seemed she should say _something_. "That's unexpected. The changes seemed so permanent at first."

"I had feared they were as well. The Prince has a well-trained mind; I am certain he has worked to contain the contamination and suppress it. At current, he seems to have eliminated it almost completely. With time, perhaps he will be able to eject the human from his soul entirely. I doubt anything pure like that could survive indefinitely in such a dark soul anyway."

She nodded along, but her thoughts were far away. If Saiu was fully demon again, what would happen to Tōshirō when Saiu called in his marker? What would happen to Ichigo, who was still tied to Saiu by a demon mark that supposedly had no power over him? What would happen to her if Saiu decided to 'protect' her some other way?

When she was back in her own office, she sat down at her desk and went very still. She let her thoughts settle and quiet.

She had to stay here.

Since returning to Hell, she'd felt different—softer, warmer, lighter. The darkness of Hell, even here where it wasn't that dark at all, weighed on her like it never had before. It was exhausting, like walking through water. It reminded her of how Soul Society had used to feel to her, when the light of it had almost hurt.

Her eyes closed against the nervous pulse of her heartbeat. She could only come up with one answer: her soul was changing. Lighter—purer. She was slowly evolving into a soul that couldn't survive here. She was going to ascend. Maybe not soon, maybe not for years yet, but it was going to happen. Her time in Soul Society had changed her, awakened her, reminded her of what it was to be someone who cared and loved and sacrificed.

But no. She couldn't. She _couldn't_. If she ascended, she would forget everything. She would forget about Tōshirō and Ichigo and Saiu and all that she knew of demons. And if she forgot, she wouldn't be able to help Tōshirō and Ichigo when the time came.

They didn't know half of what they thought they did. They were clueless about demons. When Saiu turned on them—as was inevitable, in her opinion—she had to be there to help them. They needed her.

So she would fight to stay in Hell. She would find a way. Powerless she might be, but she was smart and knowledgeable and experienced—and she still had her Diviner's Sight, after all. Nothing could take that away from her.

But before she worried about all that, she had to find that damn missing document. Curse it all into darkness, she _hated_ paperwork.

* * *

**. o : O : o .**

* * *

Ichigo squinted at the page, a scowl tugging at the corners of his mouth. A month, and he was still playing catch-up at school. He really needed to stop missing so many classes. Or more specifically, so many homework assignments. It would help if he wasn't ditching all the time to exterminate Hollow—but it was his job. And since missing school didn't involve souls being eaten because he hadn't killed a monster, missing school is what happened.

Tapping the page with his pencil, he glanced at his bed and scowled deeper. Rukia ignored him, scribbling doodles in her little notebook with single-minded enthusiasm. When was she going to admit she had no artistic talent at all? She couldn't possibly still be deluding herself about it.

Then again, if she enjoyed it, why not? As long as she didn't try to explain things to him with drawings any more.

Rukia had been hanging around him almost constantly since he'd come back from Soul Society last month. He knew why. Who wouldn't? They'd all been freaked out, all been worrying. Orihime had been following him around with anxious doe-eyes for weeks and even Ishida had asked a few times how he was.

He was fine. Which he'd told them, over and over—I'm not turning into a demon, so just back off already. In fact, all the demony feelings had started fading the moment he'd stepped back into his world. Yeah, they'd flared up a couple times over the last four weeks, but only for a short time. In fact, he felt completely normal.

Back in Soul Society, he'd been terrified. He'd thought he was mutilated beyond recognition on the inside, his soul warped into something hideous, a demon-mutant. He hadn't thought he'd ever be able to get Saichi out of his head, that he'd forever be looking at everything through two sets of eyes. He'd feared he was unalterably, undeniably broken.

Turned out he'd worried for nothing. All it had taken was time, and he'd turned back into himself. The demonic turns of thoughts—the quick, fierce anger; the urge to dominate; the lust for violence—had diminished within a few days until he could hardly remember them. Saichi's influence, the potential to adopt that strange being's outlook, he had ignored until it, too, had faded. He was back to normal, and couldn't be happier about it.

What else made him happy was that if the possession's effects had faded for him, they must have faded for Saiu as well. Which meant Saiu wouldn't have to spend the rest of his life suffering from loneliness he shouldn't feel. Ichigo was fine, which meant that Saiu was fine, which meant everything was good now.

So Rukia could go home again already. But no, why would she believe him when he said he was fine now?

He fiddled with his pencil. Okay, maybe he wasn't quite _completely_ back to normal. One thing still persisted, and he didn't understand it at all. He missed Saiu.

Of all his internal problems, it was probably the least of them—but it also made the least sense. After the possession, he'd felt a strong connection to Saiu, but that should have faded along with other side-effects of the possession. Why would one little side-effect linger when all the others had vanished?

Unless it wasn't actually a side-effect.

Saiu was interesting. He was entertaining. He challenged Ichigo—and was challenged in return. He understood something about Ichigo that no one else did—not that stupid attracted-to-power thing, but a deeper understanding of his nature. Saiu complemented him, made him feel strong and empowered and yet humbled. Mostly, Saiu was just fun to be around—even if no one else agreed with him at all on that.

So he missed Saiu. Missed his company. Missed antagonizing the demon prince and tweaking his ego. He'd just have to get over it, because he wasn't going back to Hell and demons weren't supposed to leave Hell. Hence, a permanent separation that wasn't going to change any time soon.

Why did that thought make him furious? Make him want to break something?

He glanced at Rukia, glad she couldn't read his mind. Shaking off all thoughts of demons and Hell and dark, soul-searing red eyes, he focused on his homework and started writing out an answer. So maybe he was still suffering from a little demonic contamination. He could deal.

Time to get on with his life.

* * *

**. o : O : o .**

* * *

It was raining.

The caressing touch of cool water was soothing in this world where the sun could burn and the atmosphere was terribly thin and difficult to breathe. Saiu let the water run down his face and drip off his chin, heedless of it soaking the formal black kimono he wore. He didn't move, didn't stir from where he sat on the rooftop, eyes closed as he waited.

Yes, he could feel it. Faint, subtle, barely existing, but there. Growing stronger with each minute that slid past. Yes, his suspicions were confirmed. The bond was unchanged. Distance had only dimmed it.

If he waited here long enough, it would start to consume him. The emotions would awaken inside him, foreign and invasive and tormenting. _Human_ emotions. The worst was the feeling of aloneness. Isolation. Seclusion. He hated it, hated that need for others to be around him. The need to connect. He denied it relentlessly, but it still stung him constantly.

Then there was the fear. Demons could feel fear, but not as humans did. Demons didn't _care_ about things like humans did, so they didn't fear losing them. _That_ fear was a terrible thing, distracting, consuming, impossible to ignore completely. Impossible to defeat like normal fear. He hated it too.

The fear he felt because he wasn't demon enough not to care anymore. He cared. He couldn't help caring. Not in a sentimental, loving way. No, he wasn't that far gone. But he felt _attached_. He felt drawn. He felt like he'd been tied irreversibly to that other, and he couldn't find a way to sever the chains that bound him. He didn't want to.

It all came back to that one. He felt alone when they were separated, because he longed to feel that attachment fulfilled. He feared when it was threatened, because he couldn't bear to have that attachment erased from his being. He didn't know what the loss might do to him. He longed for just that one person's company. Feared to lose it. Knew that he needed it. Couldn't escape it.

But only when they were close to each other. With distance, the bond dimmed until it was the barest thread connecting them. With distance, he didn't care so much. With distance, he no longer yearned so potently. If he was far enough away, the light of humanity in his soul diminished until it could no longer influence him—and for that he could not be more grateful. He could, if he chose, be himself again.

He could, if he chose, be himself again _permanently_. If he could summon the resolve. If he could act fast enough.

All he had to do was terminate the object of his attachment, who was also the source of his affliction. Kill the human body. Destroy the spirit. With the death of the soul, the fragment of that soul inside him would die too. He would be freed. A simple task, hardly a challenge to one of his powers.

His eyes slowly opened.

The light in the window glowed like a beacon, the only sign of occupancy in the house. It beckoned him from across the street, inviting him in. One easy leap, and he could be in that room—and the source of his torment could be dead at his feet in a single heartbeat, too fast even to see the shock of betrayal in those eyes.

He was a demon. Betrayal was a fact of life for demons; they lived by it and died by it. If that boy weren't such a sentimental fool, he would already be expecting it.

But he wouldn't. Saui knew it, had seen the trust in those eyes he remembered far too clearly. _Fool_. Stupid, weak, naïve human. He _should_ expect it. If he'd expected it, if for even a moment the thought that Saiu would betray him had crossed that innocent mind, _then_ he could have done it.

His jaw tightened and he narrowed his eyes to slits, staring hatefully at that window. He couldn't see any silhouettes, but while he'd watched and waited to see if the human emotions would resurface in him once he was so close, he'd seen two figures moving about in the room. One was potently familiar.

Damn him.

He turned away from the sight of that window. Longing churned in him, the need to see that face before he forgot it, to snarl at the playful verbal jabs that so irritated him, to be amused by that reckless lack of respect for his power. To watch the boy be drawn to him like a moth to flame without ever realizing what drove his need for Saiu's company.

If he delayed any longer, his absence in Hell would be noticed. Shiose would probably double the house-arrest punishment that he hadn't even bothered to enforce, but it would drive the rift between them even wider—and Saiu would prefer to stay on his eldest brother's neutral side and not his bad side.

He glanced back at the window one last time. Maybe next time he would be able to summon the resolve to kill the boy. But for now the humanity was choking him and he was desperate to escape it. Distance was his only salvation—unless he gave up all intent to preserve his demonic soul and sought relief in that room instead, embraced the light and the warmth and the humanness inside him that was so painful to deny—

But no. He wasn't that weak. Not yet. Not ever, if he could help it.

Green light flashed as the teleportation Kidō took him away. And he never saw the dark silhouette that appeared in the window, looking toward the distant rooftop with a puzzled frown and a wistful stare for a long moment before the light went out.

* * *

**. x : THE END : x .**

_...Continued in **Devil's Wake** and** Devil's Sway**..._

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Ah, such a bittersweet moment! (And a long time coming; my apologies for the delay.) It's been a real rollercoaster of a ride, and I've enjoyed every moment of this fic! I've learned some new tricks of the trade, polished some skills I already had, and gotten a few ideas of areas for improvement. But best of all, I got to have so much fun playing with Ichigo and the gang, as well as getting to know my OCs. Saiu and Nakita in particular have taken on a life of their own for me, and I'm already looking forward to exploring their characters more in the future.

Thanks so much to everyone who took the ride with me! It's taken a long time (a year and a half, to be exact) and I can't believe how many of you have stuck with me from start to finish, even through lost update alerts and lots of writer's block and flopped chapters. I'm going to miss this so much while I take a little break to work on some other things. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did!

Lastly, my heartfelt thanks to every person who reviewed. Each and every single time I find out that someone liked a chapter or loves the story, it just makes all the hard work worth it. I can't thank you all enough for taking the time to review, whether just once or every chapter.

Thanks again, best wishes to you all, and hope to meet you again in the sequel!

* * *

**SEQUEL UPDATE:**

I'm definitely still planning on a sequel, though I'm not sure when I'll start it. Probably once I get caught up in the anime. I've been reading the manga each week, but I fell behind on the anime once DB stopped subbing it.

Speaking of the manga, I am painfully disappointed with recent turns of event. To the point where, if I hadn't already committed so much time and love to the series thus far, I probably would just dump it at this point. As such, I've been considering revamping my plans for the sequel a bit so I can write it as an alternate continuation to Tite Kubo's new arc. I'll give the manga a few more weeks to turn around, but I'm not hopeful at this point.

I may also endeavor to write a shorter Bleach fanfiction or two before or during the sequel. I have too many ideas crashing around in my head to keep them all bottled up forever, and I really do need to practice shorter-length fiction. I only seem capable of hugely massive stories.

Either way, please sign up for Author Alerts from me so you'll know when I begin my next Bleach project!

* * *

_**Dreams of the Soul, Truth of the Heart  
**__**All in the Silence of the Sky**_


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